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H.  DE  BALZAC 


THE  COMEDIE  HUM AINE 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign  Alternates 


https://archive.org/details/ursulemirouetothOObalz 


MlNORET-LEVRAULT,  the  postmaster  in  question, 
OBLIGED  TO  SHADE  HIS  EYES  WITH  HIS  HAND. 


WAS 


H.  DE  BALZAC 


Ursule  Mirouet 

AND  OTHER  STORIES 


TRANSLATED  BY 

CLARA  BELL 


WITH  A PREFACE  RY 

GEORGE  SAINTSBURY 


PHILADELPHIA 

The  Gebbie  Publishing  Co.,  Ltd. 
1900 


c2/W  3 0 


CONTENTS 


PREFACE 

URSULE  MIROUET 

I.  THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM 

II.  THE  MINORET  PROPERTY 

MADAME  FIRMIANI  . 

A FORSAKEN  WOMAN 

THE  IMAGINARY  M/STRESS  . 


PAGE 

ix 


136 

257 

280 

329 


t1 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


MINORET-LEVRAULT,  THE  POSTMASTER  IN  QUESTION, 
WAS  OBLIGED  TO  SHADE  HIS  EYES  WITH  HIS 
HAND  ^p.  2) 


HE  TOOK  MINORET’S  HAND  AND  WITH  HIS  OTHER 

HE  TOOK  THAT  OF  THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  CHAIR  . 


“ WHAT  AILS  YOU,  CRUEL  CHILD  ? ” HE  SAID 


HE  GAZED  IN  ADMIRATION  AT  URSULE 

“ YOU  STOLE  THE  THREE  CERTIFICATES  ” 
Drawn  by  D.  Murray-Smith. 


Frontispiece 

PAGE 

HAND 

• 71 

. IOI 

• 144 

• 2 37 


938496 


PREFACE. 


“ Ursule  Mirouet,”  dedicated  by  Balzac  to  his  niece, 
Sophie  Surville,  and  avowedly  written  “ in  the  fear  of  the 
young  person,”  or,  as  the  author  more  elegantly  puts  it,  “ in 
uncompromising  respect  of  the  noble  principles  of  a pious 
education,”  exposes  itself  by  the  very  fact  to  two  different 
sorts  of  prejudice.  It  is  sure  to  be  cried  up  by  one  set  of 
judges  as  “ wholesome,”  and  to  be  cried  down  by  another  as 
“ goody.” 

The  latter  charge  is  certainly  unfair,  for  Balzac  has  by  no 
means  written  the  book  in  rose-pink  and  sky-blue  only,  nor 
has  he  been  afraid  to  show  things  more  or  less  as  they  are. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  difficult  not  to  admit  that  evidences  of 
restraint  and  convention  do  exist.  Ursule — even  more  than 
Eugenie,  who  becomes  a person  on  at  least  two  occasions,  her 
struggle  with  her  father,  and  her  revanche  over  her  cousin — is 
a thing  of  shreds  and  patches,  an  ideal  being  in  whom  that 
mysterious  “ candor,”  to  which  the  French  attach  such 
excessive  value  in  a girl,  and  which  they  make  such  haste  to 
do  away  with  altogether  in  a woman,  seems  to  shut  out  all 
positive  individuality.  She  is  very  nice ; but  she  is  not  very 
human. 

Nor  can  the  machinery  of  dreams,  hypnotism,  Swedenbor- 
gianism,  and  whatnot,  which  Balzac,  following  out  one  of 
his  well-known  manias,  chose  to  work  into  the  book,  be  said 
to  add  very  largely  to  its  verisimilitude.  It  contrasts  too 
sharply  with  the  extremely  prosaic,  if  not  always  very  prob- 
able, details  of  Minoret-Levrault’s  theft  of  the  will,  and  of 
the  jealousy  of  the  heirs,  which  it  is  interesting  to  contrast 
with  Dickens’  management  of  the  same  subject  in  “ Great 

J\  (ix) 


X 


PREFACE. 


Expectations.”  How  far  this  combination  is  artistically  pos- 
sible or  advisable  is  a question  of  abstract  criticism  into 
which  we  need  not  enter.  I think  it  does  not  require  much 
argument  to  prove  that  Balzac  has  not,  as  a matter  of  fact, 
quite  shown  the  possibility  or  the  desirableness  here.  I do 
not  know  in  the  work  of  a man  of  genius  a more  striking 
instance  of  the  wisdom  of  the  principle,  Nec  Deus  intersit , 
to  which,  in  our  day,  Horace  would  certainly  have  given  the 
form,  “ Keep  the  supernatural  in  fiction  out,  unless  you  can’t 
manage  with  the  natural.” 

However,  even  this  may  be  a question  of  opinion ; and  it 
is  at  least  worth  while  to  point  out  that  in  this  book  Balzac 
has  anticipated,  very  curiously  and  interestingly,  a large  class 
of  English  fiction  of  a later  day,  which,  in  its  turn,  has  been 
imitated  in  France.  The  whole  scheme,  indeed,  of  “ Ursule 
Mirouet,”  by  no  means  owing  only  to  its  respect  of  the  young 
person,  though  doubtless  partly  owing  to  this,  is  far  more 
that  of  an  English  novel  than  of  a French.  The  absence  of 
the  usual  “triangle,”  and  of  all  courtship  of  married  women, 
together  with  the  difficulty  (which  a Frenchman  even  now,  to 
some  extent,  experiences,  and  experienced  much  more  in 
Balzac’s  days),  of  making  very  much  of  “honest”  love 
scenes  between  man  and  maid,  put  Balzac’s  always  fertile 
invention  upon  hunting  out  and  setting  to  work  other  sources 
of  interest,  which,  with  the  possible  exception  of  the  dream- 
and-vision  part  of  the  book,  he  has,  as  a rule,  engineered 
very  happily.  Even  the  love  affair  between  Ursule  and  Sav- 
inien de  Portenduere  is  not  to  be  contemptuously  spoken  of; 
and  the  figure  of  Savinien  is  very  pleasantly  touched.  It  is 
to  be  noted  that  even  Balzac’s  favorite  heroes  of  unprincipled 
convention — Marsay,  Rastignac,  and  the  rest — exhibit  them- 
selves less  theatrically  in  their  dealings  with  the  youthful 
Vicomte  than  in  almost  any  other  of  their  numerous  appear- 
ances. Marsay’s  theory  of  debt  may  be  amusingly  and 
advantageously  contrasted  with  the  opposite,  but  in  a certain 


PREFACE. 


xi 


sense  complementary,  remarks  of  George  Warrington  on 
the  same  subject  in  “ Pendennis.”  Madame  de  Portenduere, 
too,  is  good,  and  not  overdone. 

On  the  cabals  against  Ursule  opinions  may  perhaps  differ. 
It  is  not  easy  to  say  that  anything  is  improbable  in  the  case 
of  a stupid  malefactor  like  Minoret-Levrault ; and  odisse 
quem  Iceseris  is  an  eternal  verity.  Still,  one  would  rather 
have  been  inclined  to  suppose  that  the  postmaster,  having 
been  so  completely  successful  in  his  theft,  would  instinctively 
feel  that  it  was  wiser  to  let  Ursule  alone.  The  malignity  of 
Goupil,  too,  seems  a little  overdone,  and  the  whole  character 
of  this  agreeable  lawyer’s  clerk  again  presents  mutatis  mutan- 
dis something  of  the  eccentric  extravagance  of  Dickens, 
between  whom  and  Balzac  the  parallel  is  perpetually  fasci- 
nating, because  of  its  constant  intermixture  of  likenesses  and 
contrasts. 

But  the  comic  personages  generally  must  be  said  to  be  very 
good.  They  are  not  overdone,  as  the  great  English  novelist 
just  referred  to  would  probably  have  overdone  them  ; indeed, 
Balzac  has  been  distinctly  sober  and  sparing  in  the  delineation 
of  their  “ humors.”  Dickens  certainly,  and  most  English 
novelists  probably,  would  have  been  tempted  to  bring  much 
more  to  the  front  poor  Madame  Cremiere’s  linguistic  pecu- 
liarities. These  will  remind  everybody  of  Mrs.  Malaprop, 
though  they  are  more  like  a historical  but  much  less  famous 
example,  the  “ Lingo  Grande,”  which  Southey  in  divers 
letters  to  Grosvenor  Bedford  puts  into  the  mouth  of  his  sister- 
in-law,  Mrs.  Coleridge.  The  doctor,  the  magistrate,  the  cure, 
the  public  prosecutor,  and  all  the  powers  that  be  play  their 
parts  well,  and  more  than  a mere  good  word  is  deserved  by 
Desire  Minoret,  to  whom  Balzac  has  been  rather  cruel. 

The  doctor  himself  is  a more  problematical  character. 
His  conversion  smacks  a little  of  the  stage ; and  it  certainly 
might  seem  that  such  an  experienced  personage,  well  aware 
of  the  ferocity  of  the  fortune-hunters  who  surrounded  him. 


PREFACE. 


xii 

would  have  taken  rather  more  pains  to  put  the  future  of  Ursula 
out  of  danger  by  lodging  a duplicate  will  somewhere,  or 
availing  himself  of  some  of  the  devices  in  which  French  law, 
even  under  the  Code  Napoleon,  is  nearly  as  fertile  as  English. 
But  the  testamentary  unreason  of  mankind  is  a sufficiently 
well-authenticated  fact  to  justify  Balzac. 

Altogether,  the  book,  if  not  exactly  in  the  first-class  for 
power,  takes  high  rank  for  variety  of  interest  and  for  the 
peculiar  character  of  its  scheme.  It  has  no  duplicate  in  its 
author’s  work,  and  we  could  not  spare  it.  “ Ursule  Mirouet” 
first  appeared  in  a newspaper,  Le  Messager , in  the  issues  of 
August  25  to  September  23  inclusive ; and  when  next  year  it 
was  published  in  two  volumes  by  Souverain,  it  had,  as  it  had 
in  the  periodical,  twenty-one  chapters  with  headings.  Yet 
another  year,  and  it  lost  these  chapters,  and  all  divisions 
except  the  two  part-headings  of  “ The  Heirs  in  Alarm  ” and 
“The  Minoret  Property,”  and  took  place  in  the  third  edition 
of  the  “ Scenes  de  La  Vie  de  Province,”  and  the  first  of  the 
“ Comedie  ” generally. 

The  three  short  stories  which  follow  the  title  story  are  each 
quite  characteristic  of  the  author’s  style  and  manner.  The 
various  descriptions  of  the  heroine  in  “Madame  Firmiani  ” 
have  a point  and  sparkle  which  are  almost  peculiar  to  the  not 
quite  mature  works  of  men  of  genius,  and  the  actual  story 
has  a lightness  which  perhaps  would  have  disappeared  if 
Balzac  had  handled  it  at  greater  length.  “ A Forsaken 
Woman  ” partakes  more  of  the  character  of  an  anecdote  than 
that  of  a story ; yet,  withal,  the  account  of  the  first  meeting 
of  Madame  de  Beauseant  and  M.  de  Nueil  is  positively  good ; 
and  the  introduction,  with  its  sketch  of  what  Balzac  knew  or 
dreamed  to  be  society,  has  the  merit  of  most  of  his  overtures. 
“ The  Imaginary  Mistress  ” may  be  called  somewhat  fantastic, 
and  the  final  trait,  whether  false  or  not  to  nature,  will  pro- 
voke some  critics.  But  the  devotion  of  Paz  is  exactly  one 
of  those  things  which  suited  Balzac  best,  and  which  he  could 


PREFACE. 


Xkii 


handle  most  effectively.  “ Madame  Firmiani  ” was  first  pub- 
lished in  the  Revue  de  Paris  for  February,  1832  ; then 
became  a “Conte  Philosophique,”  and  still  in  the  same  year 
a “ Scene  de  la  Vie  Parisienne.”  It  was  in  the  1842  collec- 
tion that  it  took  up  its  abode  in  the  “ Scenes  de  la  Vie 
Privee.”  “ A Forsaken  Woman  ” appeared  in  the  same  pe- 
riodical in  September  of  the  same  year,  was  a “ Scene  de  la 
Vie  de  Province”  next  year,  and  was  shifted  to  the  “Vie 
Privee”  when  the  “ Comedie  ” was  first  arranged.  “The 
Imaginary  Mistress”  made  its  appearance  about  the  same 
period,  and  took  position  in  the  “ Scenes  de  la  Vie  Privee. 


G.  S. 


v 


t 


URSULE  MIROUET 


To  Mademoiselle  Sophie  Surville. 

It  is  a real  pleasure , my  dear  niece , to  dedicate  to 
you  a book  of  which  the  subject  and  the  details  have 
gained  the  approbation — so  difficult  to  secure — of  a 
young  girl  to  whom  the  world  is  yet  unknown , and 
who  will  make  no  compromise  with  the  high  principles 
derived  from  a pious  education.  You  young  girls  are 
a public  to  be  dreaded ; you  ought  never  to  be  suffered 
to  read  any  book  less  pure  than  your  own  pure  souls , 
and  you  are  forbidden  certain  books,  just  as  you  are  not 
allowed  to  see  society  as  it  really  is.  Is  it  not  enough , 
then , to  make  a writer  proud , to  know  that  he  has 
satisfied  you  ? Heaven  grant  that  affection  may  not 
have  misled  you  ! Who  can  say  ? The  future  only , 
which  you , I hope , will  see , though  he  may  not , who  is 
your  uncle 

De  Balzac. 


i. 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 

As  you  enter  Nemours  coming  from  Paris,  you  cross  the 
canal  of  the  Loing,  whose  banks  form  a rural  rampart  to  the 
pretty  little  town,  and  afford  many  picturesque  walks.  Since 
1830,  unfortunately,  many  houses  have  been  built  beyond  the 
bridge.  If  this  suburb  increases,  the  aspect  of  the  town  will 
lose  much  of  its  attractive  originality. 

But  in  1829  the  country  on  each  side  of  the  road  lay  open. 

*(1) 


2 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


and  the  postmaster,  a tall,  burly  man  of  about  sixty,  as  he  sat 
on  the  highest  point  of  the  bridge  one  fine  morning,  could 
command  a view  of  what  he  would  have  called  a ribbon-road. 

The  month  of  September  was  lavishing  its  wealth.  The 
atmosphere  quivered  with  heat  above  the  grass  and  stones, 
not  a cloud  flecked  the  ethereal  blue,  of  which  the  vivid  trans- 
parency was  uniform  to  the  very  horizon,  showing  the  extreme 
rarity  of  the  air.  Indeed,  Minoret-Levrault,  the  postmaster 
in  question,  was  obliged  to  shade  his  eyes  with  his  hand  not 
to  be  quite  dazzled.  Out  of  patience  with  waiting,  he  looked 
now  at  the  lovely  meadows  spreading  away  to  the  right,  where 
his  after-crop  was  growing  apace,  and  now  at  the  densely 
wooded  hills  to  the  left,  stretching  from  Nemours  to  Bouron. 
And  in  the  valley  of  the  Loing,  where  the  noises  on  the  road 
came  back  echoed  from  the  hill,  he  could  hear  the  gallop  of 
his  own  horses  and  the  cracking  of  his  postillions’  whips. 

Could  any  one  but  a postmaster  get  out  of  patience  with 
gazing  at  a field  full  of  cattle,  such  as  Paul  Potter  painted, 
under  a sky  worthy  of  Raphael,  by  a canal  overhung  with 
trees,  like  a picture  by  Hobbema?  Any  one  who  knows 
Nemours,  knows  that  nature  there  is  as  beautiful  as  art,  whose 
mission  it  is  to  spiritualize  nature ; the  landscape  there  has 
ideas,  and  suggests  thoughts. 

Still,  on  seeing  Minoret-Levrault,  an  artist  would  have  left 
his  place  to  sketch  this  country  townsman  ; he  was  so  original 
by  sheer  force  of  being  common.  Combine  all  the  charac- 
teristics of  the  brute  and  you  get  Caliban,  who  certainly  is  a 
great  creation.  Where  matter  predominates,  sentiment  ends. 
The  postmaster,  a living  proof  of  this  axiom,  had  one  of 
those  countenances  in  which  the  student  finds  it  hard  to  dis- 
cern the  soul  through  the  violent  purple  hues  of  the  coarsely 
developed  flesh.  Plis  little  gored  blue  cap,  with  a peak,  fitted 
closely  to  a head  so  huge  as  to  prove  that  Gall’s  science  of 
phrenology  has  not  yet  dealt  with  the  exceptions  to  his  rules. 
The  shining  gray  hair,  which  formed  a fringe  to  the  cap, 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


3 


showed  that  white  hairs  may  be  the  result  of  other  causes 
than  overworked  brains  or  severe  grief.  His  large  ears  were 
almost  bursting  round  the  edges  from  the  fulness  of  too  abun- 
dant blood,  which  seemed  ready  to  spurt  out  after  the 
smallest  exertion-  His  complexion  showed  purple  blotches 
under  a brown  pigment,  the  result  of  constant  exposure  to 
the  sun.  His  gray  eyes,  restless  and  deep  set,  hidden  under 
two  black  bushes  of  eyebrow,  were  like  the  eyes  of  the  Kal- 
mucks seen  in  Paris  in  1815  ; if  they  glistened  nowand  then, 
it  could  only  be  under  the  influence  of  a covetous  idea.  His 
nose,  squat  at  the  base,  took  a sudden  turn  up  like  the  foot 
of  a kettle.  Thick  lips  harmonized  with  an  almost  disgusting 
double  chin,  rough  with  the  stubble  of  a beard  shaved  scarcely 
twice  a week,  which  rubbed  a dirty  necktie  into  a state  of 
worn  string;  a very  short  neck,  in  rolls  of  fat,  and  puffy 
cheeks,  completed  this  image  of  stupid  strength,  such  as 
sculptors  give  to  their  caryatides.  Minoret-Levrault  was  like 
one  of  those  statues,  with  the  difference,  however,  that  they 
support  something,  while  he  had  quite  enough  to  do  to 
support  himself. 

You  will  meet  with  many  an  Atlas  like  him.  The  man’s 
torso  was  a huge  block,  a bull  standing  on  his  hind  legs. 
Powerful  arms  terminated  in  thick,  hard  hands,  broad  and 
strong,  apt  at  wielding  the  whip,  the  reins,  and  the  pitchfork, 
hands  which  were  no  joke  in  the  eyes  of  his  postillions.  The 
enormous  stomach  of  this  giant  rested  on  legs  as  thick  as  the 
body  of  a full-grown  man,  and  feet  like  an  elephant’s.  Rage 
was  no  doubt  rare  in  this  man,  but  when  it  broke  out  it  would 
be  terrible,  apoplectic.  Though  he  was  violent  and  incapable 
of  reflection,  the  man  had  done  nothing  to  justify  the  sinister 
threats  of  his  appearance.  When  any  one  trembled  before 
the  giant,  his  post-boys  would  say,  “ Oh,  he’s  not  a bad 
fellow  ! ’ ’ 

The  “Master”  of  Nemours,  to  make  use  of  an  abbrevia- 
tion common  in  many  countries,  wore  a shooting  jacket  of 


4 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


bottle-green  velveteen,  trousers  of  striped  green  duck,  and  a 
vast  yellow  mohair  waistcoat.  In  the  waistcoat  pocket  an 
enormous  snuff-box  was  evident,  outlined  by  a black  ring. 
That  a snub  nose  argues  a big  snuff-box  is  a rule  almost  with- 
out exception. 

Minoret-Levrault,  as  a son  of  the  Revolution,  and  a spec- 
tator of  the  Empire,  had  never  concerned  himself  with 
politics ; as  to  his  religious  opinions,  he  had  never  set  foot  in 
a church  but  to  be  married ; as  to  his  principles  in  domestic 
life,  they  were  contained  in  the  Civil  Code.  He  thought 
everything  permissible  that  was  not  forbidden  or  indictable 
by  law.  He  had  never  read  anything  but  the  local  newspaper 
and  some  manuals  relating  to  his  business.  He  was  regarded 
as  a skillful  agriculturist,  but  his  knowledge  was  purely  em- 
pirical. 

In  Minoret-Levrault,  then,  the  mind  did  not  give  the  lie 
to  the  body.  He  spoke  rarely,  and  before  delivering  himself 
he  always  took  a pinch  of  snuff  to  gain  time  to  find,  not  ideas, 
but  words.  If  he  had  been  talkative,  he  would  have  seemed 
a failure. 

When  you  think  that  this  sort  of  elephant,  without  a trunk 
and  without  intelligence,  was  called  Minoret-Levrault,  must 
you  not  recognize,  with  Sterne,  the  occult  power  of  names, 
which  sometimes  mask  and  sometimes  label  the  character  of 
their  owners?  In  spite  of  these  conspicuous  disadvantages, 
in  thirty-six  years,  the  Revolution  helping,  he  had  made  a 
fortune  of  thirty  thousand  francs  a year  in  meadow-land, 
arable  land,  and  woods. 

Though  Minoret,  who  had  shares  in  the  Nemours  Messa- 
geries  Company  and  an  interest  in  the  Gatinais  Company  at 
Paris,  was  still  hard  at  work,  it  was  not  so  much  from  habit 
as  for  the  sake  of  his  only  son,  for  whom  he  wished  to  prepare 
handsome  prospects.  This  son,  who,  in  the  peasants’  phrase- 
ology, had  become  a gentleman,  had  just  ended  his  studies 
for  the  law,  and  on  the  reopening  of  the  courts  was  to  be 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


5 


sworn  as  a qualified  attorney.  Monsieur  and  Madame 
Minoret-Levrault — for  behind  the  colossus  a woman  is  evi- 
dent, a wife,  without  whom  such  a fortune  would  have  been 
impossible — had  left  their  son  free  to  choose  his  career,  as  a 
notary  at  Paris,  as  public  prosecutor  in  some  country  town, 
as  receiver-general,  stockbroker,  or  postmaster.  What  fancy 
might  he  not  allow  himself,  to  what  profession  might  he  not 
aspire,  as  the  son  of  a man  of  whom  it  was  said  from  Mont- 
argis  to  Essonne,  “ Father  Minoret  does  not  know  how  much 
he  has?” 

This  idea  had  received  fresh  confirmation  when,  four  years 
since,  after  selling  his  inn,  Minoret  built  himself  a splendid 
house  and  stables,  and  removed  the  posting  business  from  the 
High  Street  to  the  river-side.  The  new  buildings  had  cost 
two  hundred  thousand  francs,  which  gossip  doubled  for  thirty 
miles  round.  The  posting-stage  at  Nemours  required  a great 
number  of  horses ; it  worked  as  far  as  Fontainebleau  on  the 
Paris  side,  and  beyond  the  roads  to  Montargis  and  Montereau ; 
the  relays  were  long,  and  the  sandy  soil  about  Montargis 
justified  the  imaginary  third  horse,  which  is  always  paid  for 
and  never  seen.  A man  of  Minoret’s  build  and  of  Minoret’s 
wealth,  at  the  head  of  such  a concern,  might  well  be  called 
without  abuse  of  words  the  Master  of  Nemours.  Though  he 
never  gave  a thought  to  God  or  the  devil,  and  was  a practical 
materialist — as  he  was  a practical  agriculturist,  a practical 
egoist,  a practical  miser — Minoret  had  hitherto  enjoyed  un- 
mixed happiness,  if  a merely  material  existence  may  be 
regarded  as  happy.  On  seeing  the  pad  of  flesh  which  covered 
the  man’s  top  vertebrae  and  pressed  on  his  occiput,  and 
especially  on  hearing  his  shrill,  thin  voice,  which  contrasted 
ludicrously  with  his  bull-neck,  a physiologist  would  have 
understood  at  once  why  this  great,  coarse,  burly  countryman 
adored  his  only  son,  and  perhaps  why  he  had  so  long  awaited 
his  birth — as  the  name  given  to  the  child,  Desire,  sufficiently 
indicated.  In  short,  if  love,  as  betraying  a rich  physical 


6 


UR  SUL E MIROUET. 


nature,  is  the  promise  of  great  things  in  a man,  philosophers 
will  understand  the  causes  of  Minoret’s  failure. 

His  wife,  whom  the  son  happily  resembled,  vied  with  his 
father  in  spoiling  the  boy.  No  child’s  nature  could  hold  out 
against  such  idolatry.  And,  indeed,  Desire,  who  knew  the 
extent  of  his  power,  was  clever  enough  to  draw  on  his  mother’s 
savings-box  and  dip  his  hand  in  his  father’s  purse,  making 
each  of  his  fond  parents  believe  that  he  had  not  applied  to  the 
other.  Desire,  who  played  at  Nemours  a far  more  grateful 
part  than  that  of  a prince  in  his  father’s  capital,  had  indulged 
all  his  fancies  at  Paris  just  as  he  did  in  his  little  native  town, 
and  had  spent  more  than  twelve  thousand  francs  a year.  But 
then,  for  this  money,  he  had  acquired  ideas  which  would 
never  have  come  into  his  head  at  Nemours ; he  had  cast  his 
provincial  skin,  he  had  learned  the  power  of  money,  and  had 
seen  that  the  legal  profession  was  a means  of  rising  in  the 
world.  During  the  last  year  he  had  spent  ten  thousand  francs 
more  by  forming  intimacies  with  artists,  journalists,  and  their 
mistresses. 

A somewhat  alarming  confidential  letter  might  have  ac- 
counted, in  case  of  need,  for  the  postmaster’s  anxious  lookout, 
a letter  in  which  his  son  asked  his  sanction  for  a marriage ; 
but  Madame  Minoret-Levrault,  fully  occupied  in  preparing  a 
sumptuous  meal  in  honor  of  the  success  and  the  return  of  the 
fully-fledged  lawyer,  had  sent  her  husband  out  on  the  road, 
desiring  him  to  ride  forward  if  he  saw  no  signs  of  the  dili- 
gence. The  diligence  by  which  this  only  son  was  to  arrive 
usually  reached  Nemours  at  about  five  in  the  morning,  and  it 
was  now  striking  nine  ! What  could  cause  such  a delay  ? 
Had  there  been  an  upset  ? Was  Desire  alive  ? Had  he  even 
broken  a leg  ? 

Three  volleys  of  cracking  whips  rattle  out,  rending  the  air 
like  the  report  of  firearms  ; the  red  waistcoats  of  the  post- 
boys are  just  in  sight,  ten  horses  neigh  at  once  ! The  master 
takes  off  his  cap  and  waves  it ; and  he  is  seen.  The  best 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


7 


mounted  of  the  postillions,  who  is  returning  with  two  dappled 
gray  post-horses,  touches  up  the  beast  he  is  riding,  outstrip- 
ping five  sturdy  diligence  horses,  and  the  Minorets  of  the 
stable,  three  carriage  horses,  and  comes  up  to  the  master. 

44  Have  you  seen  the  4 Dueler?  ’ ” 

On  the  high-roads  all  the  coaches  have  names — fantastical 
enough  : they  are  spoken  of  as  the  44  Caillard,”  the  44  Dueler  ” 
(the  diligence  between  Nemours  and  Paris),  the  44  Grand- 
Bureau.”  Every  new  company’s  coach  is  the  44  Rival.”  At 
the  time  when  the  Lecomtes  ran  coaches,  their  vehicles  were 
known  as  the  44  Comtesses.” 

44  The  4 Caillard  ’ did  not  overtake  the  4 Comtesse,’  but  the 
4 Grand-Bureau  ’ caught  her  skirts,  anyhow  ! The  4 Caillard  ’ 
and  the  ‘Grand-Bureau  ’ have  done  for  the  4 Frangaises  ’ ” — the 
coaches  of  the  Messageries  Frangaises  or  royal  mails.  If  you 
see  a post-boy  going  fit  to  split,  and  refusing  a glass  of  wine, 
question  the  guard  ; he  will  cock  his  nose  and  stare  into  space, 
and  reply,  44  The  Rival  is  ahead  ! ” 44  And  we  cannot  even 

see  her  ! ” adds  the  postillion.  44  The  wretch  ! he  has  not 
given  his  passengers  time  to  eat  ! ” 44  As  if  he  had  any  ! ” 

retorts  the  guard.  44  Whip  up  Polignac  ! ” All  the  worst 
horses  are  called  Polignac.  These  are  the  standing  jokes  and 
subjects  of  conversation  between  the  postillions  and  the  guards 
on  the  top  of  the  coaches.  In  France  every  profession  has  its 
own  slang. 

44  Did  you  see  inside  the  4 Dueler?  ’ ” 

44  Monsieur  Desire?”  says  the  postillion,  interrupting  his 
master.  44 Why,  you  must  have  heard  us!  Our  whips  gave 
due  notice  of  her.  We  made  sure  you  would  be  on  the  road.” 

44  Why  is  the  diligence  four  hours  late  ? ” 

“The  tire  of  one  of  the  wheels  came  off  between  Essonne 
and  Ponthierry.  But  there  was  no  accident ; Cabirolle  for- 
tunately discovered  it  as  we  were  going  up  the  hill.” 

At  this  instant  a woman  in  her  Sunday  best — for  the  bells 
of  all  the  churches  of  Nemours  were  summoning  the  inhab- 


8 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


itants  to  mid-day  mass — a woman  of  about  six-and-thirty,  ad- 
dressed the  postmaster. 

“Well,  cousin/’  said  she,  “you  would  not  believe  me! 
Our  uncle  is  in  the  High  Street  with  Ursule,  and  they  are 
going  to  mass.” 

In  spite  of  the  license  of  modern  romance  in  the  matter  of 
local  coloring,  it  is  impossible  to  carry  realism  so  far  as  to 
repeat  the  horrible  abuse,  mingled  with  oaths,  which  this  news, 
so  undramatic  as  it  would  seem,  brought  from  the  wide  mouth 
of  Minoret-Levrault ; his  thin  voice  became  a hiss,  and  his 
face  had  the  appearance  which  the  country-folk  ingeniously 
refer  to  as  “ sunstroke.” 

“Are  you  certain?”  he  asked  after  his  first  explosion  of 
rage. 

The  postillions  as  they  went  by  touched  three  hats  to  the 
master,  who  seemed  neither  to  see  nor  hear  them.  Instead 
of  waiting  for  his  son,  Minoret-Levrault  returned  up  the  High 
Street  with  hi^  cousin. 

“ Did  I not  always  tell  you  so?”  she  went  on.  “When 
Doctor  Minaret  has  fallen  into  his  dotage,  that  sanctimonious 
little  slut  will  make  a bigot  of  him  ; and  as  those  who  rule 
the  mind  rule  the  purse,  she  will  get  all  our  money.” 

“ But,  Madame  Massin,”  said  the  postmaster,  quite  con- 
founded. 

“ Oh,  yes  ! ” cried  Madame  Massin,  interrupting  her  cousin, 
“ you  will  say  as  Massin  does  : * Is  a girl  of  fifteen  likely  to 
invent  and  execute  such  a plot  ? To  make  a man  of  eighty- 
three,  who  never  set  foot  in  a church  excepting  to  be  married, 
give  up  all  his  opinions?  A man  who  has  such  a horror  of 
priests  that  he  did  not  even  go  to  the  parish  church  with  the 
child  the  day  of  her  first  communion.’  But,  I say,  if  Doctor 
Minoret  has  such  a horror  of  priests,  why,  for  the  last  fifteen 
years,  has  he  spent  almost  every  evening  of  the  week  with  the 
Abbe  Chaperon  ? The  old  hypocrite  never  fails  to  give  Ursule 
twenty  francs  to  pay  for  a taper  when  she  presents  the  wafer 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


9 


for  the  mass.  Why,  do  you  not  remember  the  gift  Ursule 
made  to  the  church  as  a thank-offering  to  the  cure  for  having 
prepared  her  for  her  first  communion  ? She  spent  all  her 
money  on  it,  and  her  godfather  gave  it  back  to  her  doubled. 
You  men  pay  no  heed  to  anything  ! When  I heard  all  these 
details  : ‘ Put  away  your  baskets,’  said  I,  ‘ the  grapes  are  not 
for  you  ! ’ A rich  uncle  does  not  behave  in  that  way  to  a 
little  hussy  he  has  picked  out  of  the  gutter  unless  he  means 
something  by  it.” 

“ Pooh  ! cousin,”  replied  the  postmaster,  “ the  good  man 
is  escorting  her  as  far  as  the  church  by  mere  chance.  It  is  a 
fine  day,  and  he  is  going  to  take  a walk.” 

“ I tell  you,  cousin,  our  uncle  has  a prayer-book  in  his 
hand  ; and  he  looks  so  smug  ! However,  you  will  see  1 ” 

“ They  have  been  playing  a very  sly  game,”  observed  the 
burly  postmaster,  “for  old  Bougival  told  me  that  there  never 
was  any  religious  discussion  between  the  doctor  and  the  Abbe 
Chaperon.  Besides,  the  vicar  of  Nemours  is  the  best  man  on 
earth  ; he  would  give  his  last  shirt  to  a beggar ; he  is  incapa- 
ble of  a mean  action,  and  to  filch  an  inheritance  is  a — ” 

“ It  is  robbery ! ” said  Madame  Massin. 

“It  is  worse  ! ” cried  Minoret-Levrault,  exasperated  by  his 
voluble  cousin’s  remark. 

“ I know,”  she  went  on,  “ that  the  Abbe  Chaperon,  though 
he  is  a priest,  is  an  honest  man.  But  he  is  capable  of  any- 
thing for  the  poor.  He  must  have  undermined  Uncle  Min- 
oret,  and  the  doctor  has  fallen  into  bigotry.  We  were  easy 
in  our  minds,  and  now  he  is  perverted.  A man  who  never 
believed  in  anything,  and  who  had  principles  ! Oh,  we  are 
all  done  for ! My  husband  is  dreadfully  upset.” 

Madame  Massin,  whose  speeches  were  so  many  arrows  that 
stung  her  stout  cousin,  made  him  walk  as  briskly  as  herself  in 
spite  of  his  size,  to  the  great  amazement  of  the  people  who 
were  going  to  mass.  She  wanted  to  catch  up  with  Uncle 
Minoret  and  show  him  to  the  postmaster. 


10 


URSULE  MIRObET. 


On  the  Gatinais  side  of  Nemours  the  town  is  commanded 
by  a hill,  along  the  base  of  which  the  river  Loing  flows,  and 
the  road  runs  to  Montargis.  The  church,  on  which  time  has 
cast  a rich  mantle  of  gray,  for  it  was  certainly  rebuilt  in  the 
fourteenth  century  by  the  Guises,  in  whose  honor  Nemours 
gave  its  name  to  a duchy  and  peerage,  stands  at  the  end  of 
the  town  beyond  a large  archway,  as  in  a frame.  For  build- 
ings, as  for  men,  position  is  everything.  Shaded  by  trees 
and  shown  to  advantage  by  a neat  little  square,  this  lonely 
church  has  quite  an  imposing  effect.  As  they  came  out  on  to 
the  square,  the  postmaster  could  see  his  uncle  giving  his  arm 
to  the  young  girl  they  had  called  Ursule,  each  carrying  a 
prayer-book,  and  just  entering  the  church.  The  old  man 
took  off  his  hat  in  the  porch,  and  his  perfectly  white  head, 
like  a summit  covered  with  snow,  shone  in  the  soft  gloom  of 
the  great  doorway. 

“Well,  Minoret,  what  do  you  say  to  your  uncle’s  conver- 
sion? ” cried  the  tax-receiver  of  Nemours,  whose  name  was 
Cremiere. 

“ What  do  you  expect  me  to  say?  ” replied  the  postmaster, 
offering  him  a pinch  of  snuff. 

“ Well  answered,  Father  Levrault.  You  cannot  say  what 
you  think,  if  a certain  learned  writer  was  correct  in  saying 
that  a man  must  necessarily  think  his  words  before  he  can 
speak  his  thought,”  mischievously  exclaimed  a young  man 
who  had  just  come  up,  and  who  played  in  Nemours  the  part 
of  Mephistopheles  in  “Faust.” 

This  rascally  fellow,  named  Goupil,  was  head  clerk  to  Mon- 
sieur Cremiere-Dionis,  the  notary  of  the  town.  Notwith- 
standing the  antecedents  of  an  almost  crapulous  career,  Dionis 
had  taken  Goupil  into  his  office  when  absolute  destitution 
hindered  him  from  remaining  any  longer  at  Paris,  where  the 
clerk  had  spent  all  the  money  left  him  by  his  father,  a well-to- 
do  farmer,  who  meant  him  to  become  a notary.  Only  to  see 
Goupil  was  enough  to  tell  you  that  he  had  made  haste  to  enjoy 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


11 


life ; for,  to  procure  himself  pleasure,  he  must  have  paid 
dearly  for  it.  Though  very  short,  the  clerk,  at  seven-and- 
twenty,  had  a form  as  burly  as  that  of  any  man  of  forty. 
Short,  thin  legs,  a broad  face  with  a mottled,  muddy  skin,  like 
the  sky  before  a storm,  and  a bald  forehead,  gave  emphasis  to 
this  strange  figure.  His  face  looked  as  if  it  belonged  to  a 
hunchback,  whose  hump  was  an  internal  deformity.  A pecu- 
liarity of  this  sour,  pale  face  confirmed  the  notion  of  this 
invisible  malformation.  His  nose,  hooked  and  twisted,  as  is 
often  the  case  with  hunchbacks,  had  a crossway  slope  from  right 
to  left,  instead  of  dividing  the  face  down  the  middle.  His 
mouth,  pinched  at  the  corners — the  sardonic  mouth — was 
always  eager  for  irony.  His  thin,  reddish  hair  fell  in  dank 
locks,  showing  the  head  through  here  and  there.  His  great 
hands  and  clumsy  wrists,  at  the  end  of  overlong  arms,  were 
like  talons,  and  very  seldom  clean.  Goupil  wore  shoes  only 
fit  to  be  thrown  into  the  dust-heap,  and  rusty-black,  spun-silk 
stockings ; his  black  coat  and  trousers,  rubbed  perfectly 
threadbare,  and  almost  greasy  with  dirt ; his  abject  waistcoats, 
with  buttons  from  which  the  mould  had  slipped  out ; the  old 
bandana  he  wore  as  a cravat — every  part  of  his  dress  pro- 
claimed the  cynical  misery  to  which  his  passions  condemned 
him. 

This  aggregate  of  sinister  details  was  completed  by  a pair 
of  goat’s  eyes,  the  iris  set  in  yellow  rings,  at  once  lascivious 
and  cowardly.  No  man  in  Nemours  was  more  feared  or  more 
respectfully  treated  than  Goupil.  Strong  in  pretensions  which 
his  ugliness  allowed,  he  had  the  detestable  wit  that  is  peculiar 
to  persons  who  take  every  liberty,  and  he  made  use  of  it  to  be 
revenged  for  the  mortifications  of  his  permanent  jealousy. 
He  rhymed  satirical  couplets  such  as  are  sung  at  the  Carnival, 
he  got  up  farcical  demonstrations,  and  himself  wrote  almost 
the  whole  of  the  local  newspaper  gossip.  Dionis,  a keen, 
false  nature,  and  therefore  a timid  one,  kept  Goupil  as  much 
'out  of  fear  as  on  account  of  his  intelligence  and  his  thorough 


12 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


knowledge  of  family  interests  in  the  neighborhood.  But  the 
master  so  little  trusted  the  clerk  that  he  managed  his  accounts 
himself,  did  not  allow  him  to  lodge  at  his  house,  and  never 
employed  him  on  any  confidential  or  delicate  business.  The 
clerk  flattered  his  master,  never  showing  the  resentment  he 
felt  at  this  conduct ; and  he  watched  Madame  Dionis  with  an 
eye  to  revenge.  He  had  a quick  intelligence,  and  worked 
well  and  easily. 

“ Oh  you  ! You  are  laughing  already  at  our  misfortunes,” 
said  the  postmaster  to  the  clerk,  who  was  rubbing  his  hands. 

As  Goupil  basely  flatterecf  every  passion  of  Desire’s,  who  for 
the  last  five  years  had  made  him  his  companion,  the  postmaster 
treated  him  cavalierly  enough,  never  suspecting  what  a horrible 
store  of  evil  feeling  was  accumulating  at  the  bottom  of 
Goupil’s  heart  at  each  fresh  thrust.  The  clerk  having  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  he,  more  than  any  one,  needed  money, 
and  knowing  himself  to  be  superior  to  all  the  good  townsfolk 
of  Nemours,  aimed  at  making  a fortune,  and  counted  on 
Desire’s  friendship  to  procure  for  him  one  of  the  three  good 
openings  in  the  place — the  registrarship  of  the  law  courts,  the 
business  of  one  of  the  ushers,  or  that  of  Dionis.  So  he 
patiently  endured  the  postmaster’s  hectoring  and  Madame 
Minoret-Levrault’s  disdain,  and  played  an  ignominious  part 
to  oblige  Desire,  who,  for  these  two  years  past,  had  left  him 
to  console  the  Ariadnes  he  abandoned  at  the  end  of  the  vaca- 
tion. Thus,  Goupil  ate  the  crumbs  of  the  suppers  he  had 
prepared. 

“ If  I had  been  the  old  fool’s  nephew,  he  should  not  have 
made  God  my  co-heir,”  retorted  the  clerk,  with  a hideous 
grin  that  showed  his  wide-set  and  threatening  black  teeth. 

At  this  moment  Massin-Levrault,  junior,  the  justice’s 
registrar,  came  up  with  his  wife,  and  with  him  was  Madame 
Cremiere,  the  tax-receiver’s  wife.  This  man,  one  of  the 
crudest  natives  of  the  little  town,  had  a face  like  a Tartar, 
small,  round  eyes  like  sloes  under  a sloping  forehead,  crinkled 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


13 


hair,  an  oily  skin,  large  flat  ears,  a mouth  almost  without 
lips,  and  a thin  beard.  His  manners  had  the  merciless 
smoothness  of  the  usurer  whose  dealings  are  based  on  fixed 
principles.  He  spoke  like  a man  who  has  lost  his  voice.  To 
complete  the  picture,  he  made  his  wife  and  his  eldest  daughter 
write  out  the  copies  of  verdicts. 

Madame  Cremiere  was  a very  fat  woman,  doubtfully  fair, 
with  a thickly  freckled  complexion  ; she  wore  her  gowns  too 
tight,  was  great  friends  with  Madame  Dionis,  and  passed  as 
well  informed  because  she  read  novels.  This  lady  of  finance 
of  the  lowest  type,  full  of  pretensions  to  elegance  and  culture, 
was  awaiting  her  uncle’s  fortune  to  assume  “ a certain  style,” 
to  decorate  her  drawing-room,  and  “ receive  ” her  fellow- 
townsfolk  ; for  her  husband  refused  to  allow  her  clockwork 
lamps,  lithographs,  and  the  trifles  she  saw  in  the  notary’s  wife’s 
drawing-room.  She  was  excessively  afraid  of  Goupil,  who 
was  always  on  the  watch  to  repeat  her  capsulingics * — this  was 
her  way  of  saying  lapsus  lingua.  One  day  Madame  Dionis 
said  to  her  that  she  did  not  know  what  water  to  use  for  her 
teeth. 

“Try  gum  water,”  said  she. 

By  this  time  most  of  old  Doctor  Minoret’s  collateral  rela- 
tions had  assembled  in  the  church  square,  and  the  importance 
of  the  event  which  had  agitated  them  was  so  universally  un- 
derstood, that  the  groups  of  peasants,  men  and  women, 
armed  with  red  umbrellas  and  clad  in  the  bright  hues  which 
make  them  so  picturesque  on  fete-days  as  they  tramp  the 
roads,  all  had  their  eyes  turned  on  the  doctor’s  presumptive 
heirs.  In  those  little  towns,  which  hold  a middle  rank  be- 
tween the  larger  villages  and  the  great  cities,  people  who  do 
not  attend  mass  linger  in  the  square.  They  discuss  business. 

At  Nemours  the  hour  of  mass  is  also  that  of  a weekly 
money-market,  to  which  come  the  residents  in  the  scattered 

* Madame  Cremi£re’s  “ capsulingies  ” are  impossible  to  translate;  an 
equivalent  is  all  that  can  be  attempted. 


14 


URSULE  M/R  OCTET. 


houses  from  a mile  and  a half  round.  This  accounts  for  the 
mutual  understanding  of  the  peasants  as  against  the  masters, 
on  the  price  of  produce  in  relation  to  labor. 

“And  how  would  you  have  hindered  it?”  said  the  master 
to  Goupil. 

“ I would  have  made  myself  as  indispensable  to  him  as  the 
air  he  breathes.  But  you  did  not  know  how  to  manage  him 
to  begin  with.  An  inheritance  needs  as  much  looking  after 
as  a pretty  woman,  and  for  lack  of  care  both  may  slip  through 
your  fingers.  If  my  master’s  wife  were  here,  she  would  tell 
you  how  accurate  the  comparison  is,”  he  added. 

“ But  Monsieur  Bongrand  has  just  told  me  we  need  not  be 
uneasy,”  said  the  justice’s  registrar. 

“Oh!  there  are  several  ways  of  saying  that,”  replied 
Goupil,  with  a laugh.  “ I should  have  liked  to  hear  your 
cunning  justice  say  that ! Why,  if  there  were  nothing  more  to 
be  done  ; if  I,  like  him — for  he  lives  at  your  uncle’s — knew  that 
the  game  was  up,  I should  say  with  him,  ‘Don’t  be  at  all 
uneasy.’  ” 

And  as  he  spoke  the  words,  Goupil  smiled  in  such  a comical 
way,  and  gave  them  so  plain  a meaning,  that  the  inheritors  at 
once  suspected  the  registrar  of  having  been  taken  in  by  the 
justice’s  cunning.  The  receiver  of  taxes,  a fat  little  man,  as 
insignificant  as  a tax-collector  must  be,  and  as  witless  as  a 
clever  wife  could  wish,  demolished  his  co-heir  Massin  with  : 
“Didn’t  I tell  you  so?” 

As  double-dealers  always  ascribe  their  own  duplicity  to 
others,  Massin  looked  askance  at  the  justice  of  the  peace,  who 
was  at  this  moment  standing  near  the  church  with  a former 
client,  the  Marquis  du  Rouvre. 

“ If  only  I were  sure  of  it ! ” said  he. 

“ You  could  nullify  the  protection  he  extends  to  the  Mar- 
quis du  Rouvre,  who  is  within  the  power  of  the  law,  and 
liable  to  imprisonment ; he  is  deluging  him  with  advice  at 
this  moment,”  said  Goupil,  insinuating  an  idea  of  revenge  to 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


15 


the  registrar.  “ But  draw  it  mild  with  your  chief ; he  is  very 
wide  awake ; he  must  have  some  influence  over  your  uncle, 
and  may  yet  be  able  to  prevent  his  leaving  everything  to  the 
church.” 

“Pooh!  we  shall  not  die  of  it,”  said  Minoret-Levrault, 
opening  his  huge  snuff-box. 

“ You  will  not  live  by  it  either,”  replied  Goupil,  making 
the  two  women  shiver ; for  they,  more  rapidly  than  their 
husbands,  interpreted  as  privation  the  loss  of  the  inherit- 
ance on  which  they  had  counted  for  comfort.  “ But  we  will 
drown  this  little  grievance  in  floods  of  champagne,  in  honor 
of  Desire’s  return,  won’t  w e,  gros  pere?”  he  added,  tapping 
the  colossus  in  the  stomach,  and  thus  inviting  himself  for  fear 
of  being  forgotten. 

Before  going  any  farther,  the  precise  reader  will  perhaps  be 
glad  to  have  here  a sort  of  preamble  in  the  form  of  a pedi- 
gree, which  indeed  is  very  necessary  to  define  the  degrees  of 
relationship  in  which  the  old  man,  so  suddenly  converted, 
stood  to  the  three  fathers  of  families  or  their  wives.  These 
intermarriages  of  kindred  race  in  provincial  life  may  be  the 
subject  of  more  than  one  instructive  reflection. 

At  Nemours  there  are  not  more  than  three  or  four  noble 
families,  of  no  great  rank  or  fame  ; among  them,  at  the  time 
of  our  story,  shone  that  of  the  Portendueres.  These  exclu- 
sive families  visit  the  nobility  who  possess  lands  and  chateaux 
in  the  neighboring  country — the  D’Aiglemonts,  for  instance, 
owners  of  the  fine  estate  of  Saint-Lange,  and  the  Marquis  du 
Rouvre,  on  whose  property,  eaten  up  with  mortgages,  the 
townsfolk  kept  a greedy  eye.  The  nobility  who  live  in  the 
towns  have  no  wealth.  Madame  de  Portenduere’s  whole 
estate'consisted  of  a farm,  yielding  four  thousand  seven  hun- 
dred francs  a year,  and  her  house  in  the  town.  In  the  oppo- 
site scale  to  this  miniature  Faubourg  St.  Germain  are  half 
a score  of  rich  citizens,  retired  millers  and  tradespeople,  in 


16 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


short,  a miniature  middle  class,  below  whom  struggle  the 
small  shopkeepers,  the  laboring  class,  and  the  peasants.  This 
middle  class  affords  here,  as  in  the  Swiss  cantons  and  other 
small  communities,  the  curious  phenomenon  of  the  dispersal 
of  a few  families  native  to  the  soil,  perhaps  ancient  Gaulish 
clans,  settling  on  a district,  pervading  it,  and  making  all  the 
inhabitants  cousins.  At  the  time  of  Louis  XL,  the  period 
when  the  third  estate  at  last  took  the  by-names  they  were 
known  by  as  permanent  surnames,  some  of  which  presently 
mingled  with  those  of  the  feudal  class,  the  citizens  of  Nemours 
were  all  Minoret,  Massin,  Levrault,  or  Cremiere.  By  Louis 
XIII. ’s  time  these  four  families  had  given  rise  to  Massin- 
Cremiere,  Levrault-Massin,  Massin-Minoret,  Minoret-Minoret, 
Cremiere-Levrault,  Levrault-Minoret-Massin,  Massin -Levrault, 
Minoret-Massin,  Massin-Massin,  and  Cremiere-Massin ; all 
further  diversified  by  “junior”  and  “eldest  son;”  or  by 
Cremiere-Fran^ois,  Levrault-Jacques,  and  Jean-Minoret, 
enough  to  madden  a Father  Anselme,  if  the  populace  ever 
needed  a genealogist. 

The  changes  in  this  domestic  kaleidoscope  with  four  sep- 
arate elements  were  so  complicated  by  births  and  marriages,* 
that  the  pedigree  of  the  citizens  of  Nemours  would  have 
puzzled  even  the  compilers  of  the  “Almanac  de  Gotha,”  not- 
withstanding the  atomic  science  with  which  they  work  out  the 
zigzags  of  German  alliances.  For  a long  time  the  Minorets 
held  the  tanneries,  the  Cremieres  were  the  millers,  the  Massins 
went  into  business,  the  Levraults  remained  farmers. 

Happily  for  the  country,  these  four  stocks  struck  out  rather 
than  round  the  trunk,  or  threw  out  suckers  by  the  expatri- 
ation of  sons  who  sought  a living  elsewhere : there  are  Min- 
orets, cutlers,  at  Melun,  Levraults  at  Montargis,  Massins  at 
Orleans,  and  Cremieres  who  have  grown  rich  at  Paris.  Very 
various  are  the  destinies  of  these  bees  that  have  swarmed 
outside  the  native  hive.  Rich  Massins  employ  laboring  Mas- 
sins, just  as  there  are  German  princes  in  the  service  of  Austria 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


17 


or  Prussia.  In  the  same  department  may  be  seen  a Minoret 
millionaire  protected  by  a Minoret  soldier  with  the  same 
blood  in  their  veins  ; but  having  only  their  names  in  common, 
these  four  shuttles  had  unceasingly  woven  a human  web,  of 
which  each  piece  turned  out  a gown  or  a clout,  the  finest 
lawn  or  the  coarsest  lining.  The  same  blood  throbbed  in 
their  head,  feet,  or  heart,  in  toiling  hands,  damaged  lungs,  or 
a brow  big  with  genius.  The  heads  of  the  clan  faithfully  clung 
to  the  little  town  where  the  ties  of  relationship  could  be  re- 
laxed or  tightened,  as  the  results  of  this  community  of  names 
might  dictate. 

In  every  country,  with  a change  of  names,  you  will  find 
the  same  fact ; but  bereft  of  the  poetry  with  which  feudality 
had  invested  it,  and  which  Sir  Walter  Scott  has  reproduced 
with  so  much  talent. 

Look  a little  higher,  and  study  humanity  in  history.  All 
the  noble  families  of  the  eleventh  century,  now  almost  all 
extinct  excepting  the  royal  race  of  Capet,  must  have  co-oper- 
ated towards  the  birth  of  a Rohan,  a Montmorency,  a 
Bauffremont,  a Mortemart  of  the  present  day;  at  last,  all 
would  coexist  in  the  blood  of  the  humblest  man  of  really 
gentle  birth.  In  other  words,  every  citizen  is  cousin  to  other 
citizens,  every  noble  is  cousin  to  other  nobles.  As  we  are  told 
in  the  sublime  page  of  Biblical  genealogy,  in  a thousand 
years  the  three  families  of  Shem,  Ham,  and  Japhet  could 
people  the  whole  earth.  A family  can  become  a nation  ; and, 
unfortunately,  a nation  may  become  one  single  family.  To 
prove  this  we  have  only  to  apply  to  a family  pedigree — in 
which  the  ancestors  multiply  backwards  in  geometrical  pro- 
gression— the  sum  worked  out  by  the  sage  who  invented  the 
game  of  chess.  He  claimed,  as  his  reward  from  the  Persian 
king,  an  ear  of  corn  for  the  first  square  on  the  board,  two  for 
the  second,  and  so  on,  doubling  the  number  every  time,  and 
proved  that  the  whole  kingdom  could  not  pay  it.  This  net- 
work of  the  nobility  entangled  in  the  network  of  the  middle 
2 


18 


UR SUL E MIROUET 


class,  this  antagonism  of  blood — the  one  class  protected  by 
rigid  traditions,  the  other  by  the  active  endurance  of  labor 
and  the  craft  of  trade  instincts — brought  about  the  Revo- 
lution of  1789.  The  two  strains,  almost  united,  are  to  be 
seen  to-day  face  to  face  with  collaterals  bereft  of  their  inher- 
itance. What  will  they  do  ? Our  political  future  is  big  with 
the  reply. 

The  family  of  the  man  who,  in  Louis  XV. ’s  time,  was  the 
representative  Minoret,  was  so  large,  that  one  of  the  five — 
the  very  Minoret  whose  coming  to  church  was  making  such 
a sensation — went  to  seek  his  fortune  in  Paris,  and  appeared 
in  his  native  town  only  at  long  intervals,  whither  he  came,  no 
doubt,  to  acquire  his  share  of  the  inheritance  at  the  death  of 
his  grandparents.  After  suffering  a great  deal,  as  all  young  men 
must  who  are  gifted  with  a strong  will  and  desire  a place  in 
the  brilliant  world  of  Paris,  this  son  of  the  Minorets  made  a 
career  more  splendid  perhaps  than  he  had  dreamed  of  at  the 
beginning ; for  he  devoted  himself  to  medicine,  one  of  the 
professions  in  which  both  talent  and  good-luck  are  needed, 
and  good-luck  even  more  than  talent.  Supported  by  Dupont 
(of  Nemours),  brought  by  a happy  chance  into  contact  with 
the  Abbe  Morellet  (whom  Voltaire  nicknamed  Mords  /es), 
and  patronized  by  the  encyclopedists,  Doctor  Minoret  at- 
tached himself  with  fanatical  devotion  to  the  great  physician 
Bordeu,  Diderot’s  friend.  D’Alembert,  Helvetius,  Baron 
d’Holbach,  and  Grimm,  to  whom  he  was  a mere  boy,  ended, 
no  doubt,  like  Bordeu,  by  taking  an  interest  in  Minoret,  who 
in  1777  had  a fine  connection  among  the  deists,  encyclope- 
dists, sensualists,  materialists — call  them  as  you  will — the 
wealthy  philosophers  of  that  day.  Though  he  was  very  little 
of  a quack,  he  invented  a famous  remedy,  Lelievre’s  balsam, 
which  was  cried  up  in  the  Mercure  de  France , and  which  was 
permanently  advertised  on  the  last  page  of  that  paper,  the 
encyclopedists’  organ.  The  apothecary  Lelievre,  a clever 
man  of  business,  discerned  a success  where  Dr.  Minoret  had 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


19 


seen  nothing  more  than  a preparation  to  be  included  in  the 
pharmacopoeia ; he  honestly  divided  the  profits  with  the 
doctor,  who  was  Rouelle’s  pupil  in  chemistry,  as  he  was 
Bordeu’s  in  medicine.  It  would  have  needed  less  to  make 
him  a materialist. 

In  1778,  when  Rousseau’s  “ Nouvelle  Heloise  ” was  the 
rage,  and  men  sometimes  married  for  love,  he  married  the 
daughter  of  Valentin  Mirouet,  the  famous  harpsichord  player, 
herself  a fine  musician,  but  weakly  and  delicate,  who  died 
during  the  Revolution.  Minoret  was  intimate  with  Robes- 
pierre, to  whom  he  had  once  caused  a gold  medal  to  be 
awarded  for  a dissertation  on  these  questions:  “What  is  the 
origin  of  the  opinion  by  which  part  of  the  shame  attaching 
to  the  disgraceful  punishment  of  a guilty  man  is  reflected  on 
all  his  family  ? Is  this  opinion  generally  useful  or  mischiev- 
ous? And  supposing  it  to  be  mischievous,  by  what  means 
can  we  avert  the  disastrous  results?”  The  Academy  of  Arts 
and  Sciences  at  Metz,  to  which  Minoret  belonged,  must  still 
have  the  original  copy  of  this  discourse.  Although,  thanks 
to  this  friendship,  the  doctor’s  wife  had  nothing  to  fear,  she 
lived  in  such  dread  of  being  sent  to  the  scaffold  that  this 
invincible  terror  aggravated  an  aneurism  due  to  a too  sensitive 
nature.  In  spite  of  all  the  precautions  a man  could  take  who 
idolized  his  wife,  Ursule  met  the  truck  full  of  condemned 
victims,  and  among  them,  as  it  happened,  Madame  Roland. 
The  spectacle  caused  her  death.  Minoret,  who  had  spoiled 
his  Ursule,  and  refused  her  nothing,  so  that  she  had  led  a life 
of  extravagant  luxury,  at  her  death  found  himself  almost  a 
poor  man.  Robespierre  appointed  him  first  physician  to  a 
hospital. 

Although  the  name  of  Minoret  had  been  somewhat  famous 
during  the  vehement  discussions  to  which  mesmerism  had  given 
rise,  a fame  which  had  recalled  him  now  and  then  to  his  rela- 
tions’ memory,  the  Revolution  was  so  powerful  a solvent,  and 
broke  up  so  many  family  connections,  that  in  1813  no  one  at 


20 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


Nemours  knew  even  of  Doctor  Minoret’s  existence,  when  an 
unexpected  meeting  suggested  to  him  the  idea  of  returning, 
as  hares  do,  to  die  in  his  form. 

In  traveling  through  France,  where  the  eye  is  so  soon 
fatigued  by  the  monotony  of  the  wide  plains,  who  has  not 
known  the  delightful  sensation  of  discerning,  from  the  top  of 
a hill  where  the  road  turns  or  descends,  and  where  he  ex- 
pected to  see  a dull  landscape,  a green  valley  watered  by  a 
stream,  and  a little  town  sheltered  under  a cliff,  like  a hive  in 
the  hollow  of  an  old  willow-tree?  As  he  hears  the  postillion’s 
cry  of  “Come  up!  ” while  he  walks  at  his  horse’s  side,  the 
traveler  shakes  off  sleep,  and  admires  as  a dream  within  a 
dream  some  lovely  scene  which  is  to  the  stranger  what  a fine 
passage  in  a book  is  to  the  reader — a brilliant  idea  of  nature. 
This  is  the  effect  produced  by  the  sudden  view  of  Nemours 
on  the  road  from  Burgundy.  It  is  seen  from  the  height  in  an 
amphitheatre  of  naked  rocks,  gray,  white  and  black,  like  those 
which  are  scattered  throughout  the  forest  of  Fontainebleau; 
and  from  among  them  shoot  up  solitary  trees,  standing  out 
against  the  sky,  and  giving  a rural  aspect  to  this  sort  of 
tumble-down  rampart.  This  is  the  end  of  the  long  wooded 
slope  which  rises  from  Nemours  to  Bouron,  sheltering  the 
road  on  one  side.  At  the  foot  of  these  cliffs  spreads  a meadow- 
land,  through  which  the  Loing  flows,  in  level  pools  ending 
in  little  waterfalls.  This  exquisite  tract  of  country,  cut- 
through  by  the  Montargis  road,  is  like  an  elaborate  opera 
scene,  the  effects  seem  so  carefully  worked  up,  and  brought 
out  in  strong  contrasts. 

One  morning  the  doctor,  who  had  been  sent  for  by  a rich  im 
valid  in  Burgundy,  and  who  was  hastening  back  to  Paris,  not 
having  mentioned  at  the  last  change  of  horses  which  road  he 
wished  to  take,  was  unwittingly  brought  through  Nemours, 
and  between  two  naps  saw  once  more  the  landscape  familiar 
to  his  childhood.  The  doctor  had  by  this  time  lost  many  of 
his  old  friends.  The  disciple  of  the  Encyclopedia  had  lived 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


21 


to  see  La  Harpe  a convert,  had  buried  Lebrun-Pindare,  and 
Marie-Joseph  de  Chenier,  and  Morellet,  and  Madame  Hel- 
vetius.  Pie  had  seen  the  quasi  overthrow  of  Voltaire  under  the 
attacks  of  Geoffroy,  Freron’s  successor.  Hence  he  was  think- 
ing of  retiring.  And  when  the  post-chaise  stopped  at  the  top 
of  the  High  Street  of  Nemours,  his  good  feeling  prompted 
him  to  inquire  after  his  family.  Minoret-Levrault  himself 
came  out  to  see  the  doctor,  who  recognized  in  the  postmaster 
his  eldest  brother’s  son.  This  nephew  introduced  as  his 
wife  the  only  daughter  of  old  Levrault-Cremiere,  who,  twelve 
years  ago,  had  left  her  the  posting  business  and  the  hand- 
somest inn  in  Nemours. 

“Well,  nephew,”  said  the  doctor,  “and  have  I any  other 
heirs  ? ” 

“ My  Aunt  Minoret,  your  sister,  married  a Massin-Massin.” 

“Yes,  the  intendant  at  Saint-Lange.” 

“She  died  a widow,  leaving  one  daughter,  who  has  lately 
married  a Cremiere-Cremiere,  a very  nice  fellow,  who  so  far 
has  no  appointment.” 

“ To  be  sure  ; she  is  my  own  niece.  Now,  as  my  brother 
at  sea  died  unmarried,  and  Captain  Minoret  was  killed  at 
Monte-Legino,  and  I am  here,  that  is  an  end  of  my  father’s 
family.  Have  I any  relations  on  my  mother’s  side  ? She 
was  a Jean-Massin-Levrault.” 

“ Of  the  Jean-Massin-Levraults,”  replied  Minoret-Levrault, 
“ only  one  daughter  survived,  who  married  Monsieur  Cre- 
miere-Levrault-Dionis,  a dealer  in  corn  and  forage,  who  died 
on  the  scaffold.  His  wife  died  of  a broken  heart,  and  quite 
ruined,  leaving  one  girl,  married  to  a Levrault-Minoret,  a 
farmer  at  Montereau,  who  is  doing  well  ; and  their  daughter 
has  just  married  a Massin-Levrault,  a notary’s  clerk  at  Mon- 
targis,  where  his  father  is  a locksmith.” 

“ So  I have  no  lack  of  inheritors,”  said  the  doctor  cheerfully, 
and  he  determined  to  walk  round  Nemours  in  his  nephew’s 
company. 


22 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


The  Loing  meanders  through  the  town,  fringed  with  ter- 
raced gardens  and  neat  houses  that  look  as  if  happiness  should 
inhabit  there  rather  than  elsewhere.  When  the  doctor  turned 
out  of  the  High  Street  into  the  Rue  des  Bourgeois,  Minoret- 
Levrault  pointed  out  the  property  of  Monsieur  Levrault,  a 
rich  ironmaster  at  Paris,  who,  he  said,  was  lately  dead. 

“There,  uncle,”  said  he,  “ is  a pretty  house  to  be  sold, 
with  a beautiful  garden  down  to  the  river.” 

“ Let  us  go  in,”  said  the  doctor,  seeing  a house  at  the  far- 
ther side  of  a paved  courtyard,  shut  in  by  the  walls  of  houses 
on  either  side,  hidden  by  clumps  of  trees  and  climbing  plants. 

“ It  is  built  on  cellars,”  said  the  doctor  as  he  went  in,  up 
a high  outside  stairway,  decorated  with  blue  and  white  earthen- 
ware pots  in  which  the  geraniums  were  still  in  bloom.  The 
house,  like  most  provincial  residences,  was  pierced  by  a pas- 
sage down  the  middle,  leading  from  the  courtyard  to  the  gar- 
den ; to  the  right  was  a single  sitting-room  with  four  windows, 
two  to  the  yard,  and  two  to  the  garden  ; but  Levrault-Levrauit 
had  turned  one  of  these  into  an  entrance  to  a long  conserva- 
tory built  of  brick,  leading  from  the  room  to  the  river,  where 
it  ended  in  a hideous  Chinese  summer-house. 

“Very  good  ! ” said  the  doctor.  “By  roofing  and  floor- 
ing this  conservatory  I could  make  a place  for  my  books,  and 
turn  that  amazing  piece  of  architecture  into  a pretty  little 
study.” 

On  the  other  side  of  the  passage,  looking  on  to  the  garden, 
was  a dining-room,  decorated  in  imitation  of  lacquer,  with  a 
black  background  and  green  and  gold  flowers ; this  was 
divided  from  the  kitchen  by  the  staircase.  A little  pantry 
behind  the  lower  flight  led  from  the  dining-room  to  the 
kitchen,  which  had  barred  windows  looking  out  on  the  court- 
yard. On  the  first  floor  were  two  sets  of  rooms,  and  above 
that  wainscoted  attics,  quite  habitable.  After  a brief  inspec- 
tion of  this  house,  which  was  covered  with  green  vine-trellis 
from  top  to  bottom,  on  the  courtyard  front  as  well  as  on  the 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


23 


garden  side,  with  a terrace  to  the  river  edged  with  earthen- 
ware flower-vases,  the  doctor  remarked — 

“ Levrault-Levrault  must  have  spent  a good  deal  here  ! ” 

“Oh,  his  weight  in  gold!”  replied  Minoret-Levrault. 
“ He  had  a passion  for  i lowers — such  folly!  4 What  profit 
do  they  bring? ’ as  my  wif ; says.  As  you  see,  a painter  came 
from  Paris  to  paint  his  corridor  with  flowers  in  fresco.  He 
put  in  whole  plate  mirrors  everywhere.  The  ceilings  were 
done  up  with  cornices  that  cost  six  francs  a foot.  In  the 
dining-room  the  floor  is  of  the  finest  inlay — such  folly  ! The 
house  is  not  worth  a penny  the  more  for  it.” 

“ Well,  nephew,  buy  it  for  me.  Let  me  know  when  it  is 
settled ; here  is  my  address.  The  rest  my  lawyer  will  attend 
to.  Who  lives  opposite?  ” he  asked  as  they  went  out  into  the 
street. 

“Some  emigres ,”  said  the  postmaster;  “a  Chevalier  de 
Portenduere.” 

When  the  house  was  bought,  the  distinguished  physician, 
instead  of  coming  to  live  in  it,  wrote  orders  to  his  nephew  to 
let  it.  Levrault’s  Folly  was  taken  by  the  notary  of  Nemours, 
who  sold  his  business  to  Dionis  his  head  clerk,  and  who  died 
two  years  after,  leaving  the  doctor  burthened  with  a house  to 
let  just  at  the  time  when  Napoleon’s  fate  was  being  sealed  in 
the  neighborhood.  The  doctor’s  heirs,  somewhat  taken  in, 
had  at  first  supposed  his  wish  to  return  to  be  a rich  man’s 
whim,  and  were  in  despair  when,  as  they  imagined,  he  had 
ties  in  Paris  which  kept  him  there,  and  would  rob  them  of 
his  leavings.  However,  Minoret-Levrault’s  wife  seized  this 
opportunity  of  writing  to  the  doctor.  The  old  man  replied 
that  as  soon  as  peace  should  be  signed,  the  roads  cleared  of 
soldiers,  and  communications  free  once  more,  he  meant  to 
live  at  Nemours.  He  made  his  appearance  there  with  two  of 
his  clients,  the  architect  to  the  hospital,  and  an  upholsterer 
who  undertook  the  repairs,  the  rearrangement  of  the  rooms, 
and  the  removal  of  his  furniture.  Madame  Minoret-Levrault 


24 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


proposed  to  him  as  caretaker  the  cook  of  the  departed  notary, 
and  this  he  agreed  to. 

When  the  heirs  learned  that  their  uncle,  or  great-uncle 
Minoret,  was  really  going  to  live  at  Nemours,  their  families 
were  seized  by  an  absorbing  but  almost  legitimate  curiosity, 
in  spite  of  the  political  events  which  just  then  more  especially 
agitated  the  district  of  the  Gatinais  and  Brie.  Was  their 
uncle  rich?  Was  he  economical  or  extravagant  ? Would  he 
leave  a fine  fortune  or  nothing  at  all  ? Had  he  invested  in 
annuities  ? All  this  they  at  last  came  to  know,  but  with  in- 
finite difficulty,  and  by  means  of  much  backstairs  spying. 

After  the  death  of  his  wife  Ursule  Mirouet,  from  1789  to 
1813,  the  doctor,  who  in  1805  had  been  appointed  consulting 
physician  to  the  Emperor,  must  have  made  a great  deal  of 
money,  but  no  one  knew  how  much ; he  lived  very  simply, 
with  no  expenses  beyond  a carriage  by  the  year,  and  a splen- 
did apartment ; he  never  entertained,  and  almost  always  dined 
out.  His  housekeeper,  furious  at  not  being  asked  to  go  with 
him  to  Nemours,  told  Zelie  Levrault,  the  postmaster’s  wife, 
that  to  her  knowledge  he  had  fourteen  thousand  francs  a year 
in  consols.  Now,  after  practicing  for  twenty  years  in  a pro- 
fession which  such  appointments  as  head  physician  to  a hos- 
pital, as  physician  to  the  Emperor,  and  as  member  of  the 
institute  could  not  fail  to  have  made  lucrative,  these  fourteen 
thousand  francs  a year  as  dividends  on  repeated  investments 
argued  no  more  than  a hundred  and  sixty  thousand  francs  in 
savings  ! And  to  have  laid  by  no  more  than  eight  thousand 
francs  a year,  the  doctor  must  have  had  many  vices  or  virtues 
to  indulge.  Still,  neither  the  housekeeper,  nor  Zelie,  nor  any 
one  else  could  divine  the  secret  of  so  small  a fortune.  Min- 
oret, who  was  greatly  regretted  in  his  own  neighborhood,  was 
one  of  the  most  liberal  benefactors  in  Paris,  and,  like  Larrey, 
kept  his  acts  of  benevolence  a profound  secret. 

So  it  was  with  the  liveliest  satisfaction  that  his  heirs  watched 
the  arrival  of  their  uncle’s  handsome  furniture  and  extensive 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


25 


library,  and  knew  him  to  be  an  officer  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor,  and  made  Chevalier  of  the  Order  of  Saint-Michael  by 
the  King,  in  consequence,  perhaps,  of  his  retirement,  which 
made  way  for  some  favorite.  But  the  architect,  the  painters, 
and  the  upholsterers  had  finished  everything  in  the  most  com- 
fortable fashion,  and  still  the  doctor  came  not.  Madame  Min- 
oret-Levrault,  who  watched  the  upholsterer  and  the  architect  as 
though  her  own  property  were  at  stake,  discovered,  through 
the  inadvertence  of  a young  man  sent  to  put  the  books  in 
order,  that  the  doctor  had  in  his  care  an  orphan  named 
Ursule.  This  news  caused  strange  dismay  in  the  town  of 
Nemours.  At  last  the  old  man  came  home  in  about  the 
middle  of  January,  1815,  and  settled  down  without  any  fuss, 
bringing  with  him  a little  girl  of  ten  months  and  her  nurse. 

“ Ursule  cannot  be  his  daughter ; he  is  seventy-one  years 
old  ! ” cried  the  alarmed  expectants. 

“ Whoever  she  may  be,  she  will  give  us  plenty  of  bother,” 
said  Madame  Massin. 

The  doctor’s  reception  of  his  grandniece  on  the  mother’s 
side  was  cold  enough  ; her  husband  had  just  bought  the  place 
of  registrar  to  the  justice  of  the  peace,  and  they  were  the  first 
to  venture  on  any  allusion  to  the  difficulties  of  their  position. 
Massin  and  his  wife  were  not  rich.  Massin’s  father,  an  iron- 
worker at  Montargis,  had  been  obliged  to  compound  with  his 
creditors,  and  worked  now,  at  the  age  of  sixty-seven,  as  hard 
as  a young  man  ; he  would  have  nothing  to  leave.  Madame 
Massin’s  father,  Levrault-Minoret,  had  lately  died  at  Mon- 
tereau  of  grief  at  the  results  of  the  fighting — his  farmhouse 
burnt  down,  his  fields  destroyed,  and  his  cattle  killed  and  eaten. 

“We  shall  get  nothing  out  of  your  great-uncle,”  said 
Massin  to  his  wife,  who  was  expecting  her  second  baby. 

But  the  doctor  secretly  gave  them  ten  thousand  francs,  with 
which  the  registrar,  as  the  friend  of  the  notary  and  of  the 
usher  of  Nemours,  had  begun  money-lending;  and  he  made 
the  peasants  pay  such  usurious  interest  that,  at  this  later  day, 


26 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


Goupil  knew  him  to  possess  about  eighty  thousand  francs  of 
unconfessed  capital. 

As  to  his  other  niece,  the  doctor,  by  his  influence  in  Paris, 
procured  the  post  of  receiver  of  public  moneys  at  Nemours 
for  Cremiere,  and  advanced  the  necessary  security.  Though 
Minoret-Levrault  wanted  nothing,  Zelie,  very  jealous  of  her 
uncle’s  liberality  to  his  two  nieces,  came  to  see  him  with  her 
son,  then  ten  years  old,  whom  she  was  about  to  send  to  school 
in  Paris,  where,  as  she  said,  education  was  very  costly.  As 
physician  to  Monsieur  de  Fontanes,  the  doctor  obtained  a 
half-scholarship  at  the  College  of  Louis  le  Grand  for  his 
grand-nephew,  who  was  placed  in  the  fourth  class. 

Cremiere,  Massin,  and  Minoret-Levrault,  all  three  very 
common  men,  were  condemned  beyond  appeal  by  the  doctor 
during  the  first  two  or  three  months,  while  they  were  trying 
to  circumvent  their  future  prospects  rather  than  himself. 
Persons  who  act  by  instinct  have  this  disadvantage  as  com- 
pared with  those  who  have  ideas — they  are  more  easily  seen 
through.  The  inspirations  of  instinct  are  too  elementary, 
and  appeal  too  directly  to  the  eye,  not  to  be  detected  at  once; 
while  to  penetrate  ideas,  the  devices  of  the  mind,  equal  intel- 
ligence is  needed  on  both  sides. 

Having  thus  purchased  the  gratitude  of  his  heirs,  and  to 
some  extent  stopped  their  mouths,  the  wily  doctor  alleged  his 
occupations,  his  habits,  and  the  care  he  gave  to  little  Ursule, 
so  as  not  to  receive  their  visits,  without,  however,  shutting  his 
door  to  them:  ‘‘He  liked  to  dine  alone;  he  went  to  bed 
and  rose  late ; he  had  come  back  to  his  native  place  to  enjoy 
repose  and  solitude.”  These  whims  in  an  old  man  seemed 
natural  enough,  and  his  expectant  heirs  were  satisfied  to  pay 
him  a weekly  visit  on  Sundays  between  one  and  four,  to  which 
he  vainly  tried  to  put  a stop  by  saying — 

“ Only  come  to  see  me  when  you  want  me.” 

The  doctor,  though  he  did  not  refuse  his  advice  in  serious 
cases,  especially  among  the  poor,  would  not  become  physician 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


27 


to  the  little  asylum  at  Nemours,  and  declared  that  he  would 
no  longer  practice. 

“I  have  killed  enough  people  ! ” said  he,  laughing,  to  the 
Cure  Chaperon,  who,  knowing  his  benevolence,  pleaded  for 
the  poor. 

“ He  is  quite  an  oddity.” 

This  verdict  on  Doctor  Minoret  was  the  harmless  revenge 
of  wounded  vanity,  for  the  physician  formed  a little  society 
for  himself  of  persons  who  deserve  to  be  contrasted  with  the 
heirs.  Now,  those  of  the  town  magnates  who  thought  them- 
selves worthy  to  swell  the  court  circle  of  a man  wearing  the 
black  ribbon  of  Saint  Michael,  nourished  a ferment  of  jealousy 
against  the  doctor  and  his  privileged  friends  which,  unhappily, 
was  not  impotent. 

By  a singularity  which  can  only  be  explained  by  the  saying 
that  “ extremes  meet,”  the  materialist  doctor  and  the  priest 
of  Nemours  very  soon  were  friends.  The  old  man  was  very 
fond  of  backgammon,  the  favorite  game  of  the  clergy,  and 
the  abb£  was  a match  for  the  physician.  This  game  thus 
became  the  first  bond  between  them.  Then  Minoret  was 
charitable,  and  the  cure  of  Nemours  was  the  Fenelon  of  the 
Gatinais.  They  were  both  men  of  varied  information  ; thus, 
in  all  Nemours,  the  man  of  God  was  the  only  man  who  could 
understand  the  atheist.  In  order  to  discuss  any  matter, 
two  men  must  understand  each  other  to  begin  with.  What 
pleasure  is  there  in  saying  sharp  things  to  any  one  who  does 
not  feel  them  ? The  doctor  and  the  priest  had  too  much 
good  taste,  and  had  seen  too  much  good  company,  not  to 
observe  its  rules  ; they  could  therefore  carry  on  the  little  war- 
fare that  is  so  necessary  to  conversation.  Each  hated  the 
others  opinions,  but  they  esteemed  each  other’s  character. 
If  such  contrasts  and  such  sympathies  are  not  the  essential 
elements  of  intimacy,  must  we  not  despair  of  society,  since, 
especially  in  France,  some  antagonism  is  indispensable  to  it? 
Contrariety  of  characters,  not  antagonism  of  opinions,  is  what 

O 


28 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


gives  rise  to  antipathies.  So  the  Abb6  Chaperon  was  the 
doctor’s  first  friend  at  Nemours,  and  this  friendship  endured 
unfalteringly  to  the  last. 

This  priest,  now  sixty  years  of  age,  had  been  cure  of 
Nemours  ever  since  the  re-establishment  of  Catholic  worship. 
He  had  refused  promotion  to  be  vicar-general  of  his  diocese 
out  of  attachment  to  his  flock.  If  those  who  were  indifferent 
to  religion  thought  the  better  of  him  for  it,  the  faithful  loved 
him  all  the  more.  Thus  venerated  by  his  flock,  and  esteemed 
by  the  community,  the  cure  did  good  without  inquiring  too 
closely  as  to  the  religious  views  of  those  who  were  unfor- 
tunate. His  own  dwelling,  scarcely  supplied  with  furniture 
enough  for  the  strictest  necessities  of  life,  was  as  cold  and 
bare  as  a miser’s  hovel.  Avarice  and  charity  betray  them- 
selves by  similar  results ; does  not  charity  lay  up  in  heaven 
the  treasure  that  the  miser  hoards  on  earth  ? The  Abbe 
Chaperon  took  his  servant  to  task  for  every  expense,  more 
severely  than  Gobseck  ever  scolded  his — if,  indeed,  that 
notorious  Jew  ever  had  a servant.  The  good  priest  often 
sold  his  silver  shoe-buckles  and  breeches-buckles  to  give  the 
money  to  some  poor  wretch  he  had  found  destitute.  On  see- 
ing him  come  out  of  church  with  the  tongues  of  his  knee- 
straps  pulled  through  the  buttonholes,  the  devout  ladies  of  the 
town  would  trot  off  to  look  for  the  cure’s  buckles  at  the  one 
jeweler’s  and  watchmaker’s  shop  in  Nemours,  and  reproach 
their  pastor  as  they  restored  them  to  him.  He  never  bought 
himself  linen  or  clothes,  and  wore  them  till  they  were  drop- 
ping to  pieces.  His  underclothing,  thick  with  darns,  fretted 
his  skin  like  a hair-shirt.  Then  Madame  de  Portenduere,  or 
some  other  good  soul,  plotted  with  his  houskeeper  to  replace 
his  old  shirts  or  cloth  clothes  by  new  ones  while  he  slept ; 
and  the  priest  did  not  always  immediately  perceive  the  ex- 
change. He  dined  off  pewter,  with  iron  forks  and  spoons ; 
when,  on  great  occasions,  he  had  to  receive  his  subordinate 
clergy  and  other  cures,  a duty  that  falls  on  the  head  of  a dis- 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


29 


trict,  he  borrowed  silver  and  table-linen  from  his  friend  the 
atheist. 

“ My  plate  is  working  out  its  salvation,”  the  doctor  would 
say. 

His  good  deeds,  which  were  sooner  or  later  found  out,  and 
which  he  always  reinforced  with  spiritual  comfort,  were 
carried  out  with  sublime  simplicity.  And  such  a life  was  all 
the  more  meritorious  because  the  abbe  was  full  of  erudition, 
as  vast  as  it  was  various,  and  a man  of  superior  abilities.  In 
him  refinement  and  elegance,  the  inseparable  attributes  of 
simplicity,  added  charm  to  elocution  worthy  of  a prelate. 
His  manners,  his  character,  and  his  conduct  gave  to  his 
society  the  exquisite  flavor  of  all  that  is  at  once  candid  and 
subtle  in  a lofty  intellect.  Enjoying  pleasantry,  in  a draw- 
ing-room he  was  never  the  priest.  Until  Doctor  Minoret’s 
arrival,  this  worthy  man  left  his  light  under  a bushel  without 
a regret ; but  he  no  doubt  liked  him  the  better  for  calling  it 
into  play. 

Possessed  of  a fairly  good  library  and  two  thousand  francs 
a year  when  he  came  to  Nemours,  in  1829,  the  cure  had  noth- 
ing left  but  the  income  from  his  church,  and  that  he  gave 
away  almost  entirely  year  by  year.  A man  of  good  judgment 
in  delicate  affairs  or  in  misfortune,  more  than  one  of  those 
who  never  went  to  church  in  search  of  consolation  went  to 
the  priest’s  house  in  quest  of  advice.  An  anecdote  will  suf- 
fice to  complete  this  portrait  of  a character.  Certain  pea- 
sants, seldom  it  is  true,  but  bad  folks  at  any  rate,  said  they 
were  in  danger  of  imprisonment  for  debt,  or  had  themselves 
sued  falsely,  to  stimulate  the  abbe’s  beneficence.  They  de- 
ceived their  wives;  and  the  women,  seeing  themselves  threat- 
ened with  eviction  and  their  cows  seized,  by  their  innocent 
tears  deceived  the  poor  cure,  who  would  find  the  seven  or 
eight  hundred  francs  demanded,  which  the  peasants  would 
spend  on  a little  plot  of  ground.  When  some  pious  persons, 
church-wardens,  pointed  out  the  fraud,  begging  the  cure  to 


UR  SUL E MIROUET. 


30 

consult  them  for  the  future,  that  he  might  not  be  the  victim 
of  greed,  he  replied — 

“ Perhaps  those  men  would  have  committed  some  crime  to 
get  their  acre  of  land,  and  is  it  not  a form  of  good  to  hinder 
evil?  ” 

The  reader  may  perhaps  find  pleasure  in  this  sketch  of  a 
figure,  remarkable  because  science  and  literature  had  entered 
that  heart  and  that  capable  brain  without  corrupting  them  in 
any  way. 

At  sixty  years  of  age  the  Abbe  Chaperon’s  hair  was  per- 
fectly white,  so  keenly  was  he  alive  to  the  sufferings  of  others, 
and  so  deeply  had  the  events  of  the  Revolution  affected  him. 
Twice  imprisoned  for  having  twice  refused  to  take  certain 
oaths,  he  had  twice  (to  use  his  own  expression)  said  his  In 
manus.  He  was  of  middle  height,  neither  stout  nor  thin. 
His  face,  deeply  furrowed,  hollow-cheeked,  and  colorless, 
attracted  the  eye  at  once  by  the  perfect  calm  of  the  lines  and 
the  purity  of  its  outline,  which  looked  as  if  fringed  with 
light.  There  is  a mysterious  kind  of  radiance  from  the  face 
of  a perfectly  chaste  man.  Brown  eyes,  with  bright  pupils, 
gave  life  to  irregular  features,  under  a powerful  forehead. 
His  gaze  exercised  a dominion  that  may  be  explained  by  its 
sweetness,  which  did  not  exclude  strength.  The  arches  of 
his  brows  were  like  deep  vaults,  shadowed  by  thick  gray  eye- 
brows, which  frightened  no  one.  As  he  had  lost  many  teeth, 
his  mouth  was  shapeless,  and  his  cheeks  were  hollow ; but  this 
ruin  was  not  without  charm,  and  his  kindly  wrinkles  seemed 
always  to  be  smiling  at  you. 

He  walked  with  difficulty,  having  very  tender  feet,  without 
being  gouty ; so  in  all  weathers  he  wore  soft  calf-skin  shoes. 
He  thought  trousers  unsuitable  to  a priest,  and  always  ap- 
peared in  stout,  black,  worsted  stockings,  knitted  by  his 
housekeeper,  and  black  cloth  knee-breeches.  He  did  not  go 
out  in  his  priest’s  gown,  but  in  a brown  overcoat  and  the 
three-cornered  hat  he  had  always  bravely  worn,  even  in  the 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


31 

worst  times.  This  fine  and  noble  old  man,  whose  face  was 
always  beautified  by  the  serenity  of  a blameless  soul,  was 
destined  to  have  so  great  an  influence  on  men  and  things  in 
this  narrative  that  it  was  necessary  to  go  to  the  sources  of  his 
authority. 

Minoret  took  in  three  papers — one  liberal,  one  ministerial, 
and  one  ultra — some  periodical  magazines  and  scientific 
journals,  of  which  the  accumulation  swelled  his  library. 
These  journals,  the  encyclopedist,  and  his  books  were  an 
attraction  to  a retired  captain  of  the  Royal  Swedish  Regiment, 
Monsieur  de  Jordy,  a gentleman,  a Voltairean,  and  an  old 
bachelor,  who  lived  on  sixteen  hundred  francs  a year,  partly 
pension  and  partly  an  annuity.  After  reading  the  papers  for 
some  days,  through  the  intervention  of  the  cure,  M.  de  Jordy 
thought  it  becoming  to  call  and  thank  the  doctor.  From  his 
very  first  visit  the  old  captain,  formerly  a professor  in  the 
military  college,  won  the  doctor’s  good  graces,  and  the  visit 
was  promptly  returned. 

Monsieur  de  Jordy,  a lean,  dry  little  man,  but  tormented 
by  blood  to  the  head,  though  he  had  a very  pale  face,  was 
striking-looking  by  reason  of  a fine  forehead,  like  Charles 
XII.,  over  which  his  hair  was  cropped  short  like  that  of  the 
soldier-king.  His  blue  eyes,  which  would  make  one  think 
‘‘Love  has  passed  that  way,”  though  they  were  deeply  sad, 
were  interesting  at  first  sight,  for  their  gaze  betrayed  remem- 
brance; but  on  this  point  he  kept  his  own  secret  so  com- 
pletely that  his  old  friends  never  detected  him  in  any  allusion 
to  his  past  life,  nor  ever  heard  one  of  the  exclamations  which 
are  sometimes  called  forth  by  a similarity  in  misfortune.  He 
hid  the  painful  mystery  of  his  past  under  philosophical  gaiety ; 
but  when  he  thought  himself  alone,  his  movements,  weighted 
by  a slowness  evidently  deliberate  rather  than  senile,  bore 
witness  to  an  ever-present  painful  thought.  The  abbe,  in- 
deed, had  called  him  “ The  Christian  without  knowing  it.” 

Always  wearing  a blue  cloth  suit,  his  somewhat  stiff  de- 


32 


UR  SUL E MIROUET. 


meanor  and  his  style  of  dress  betrayed  old  habits  of  military 
discipline.  His  voice,  soft  and  musical,  spoke  to  the  soul. 
His  fine  hands,  and  the  shape  of  his  face,  recalling  that  of 
the  Comte  d’Artois,  by  showing  how  handsome  he  must  have 
been  in  his  youth,  made  the  mystery  of  his  life  even  more 
impenetrable.  It  was  impossible  not  to  wonder  what  was  the 
disaster  that  had  stricken  a man  so  handsome,  with  courage, 
grace,  learning,  and  all  the  most  delightful  qualities  of  heart 
which  had  formerly  been  united  in  his  person.  Monsieur  de 
Jordy  always  shuddered  at  the  name  of  Robespierre.  He 
used  a great  deal  of  snuff,  but,  strange  to  say,  he  gave  it  up 
for  little  Ursule,  who  at  first  showed  a dislike  to  him  in  con- 
sequence of  this  habit.  Whenever  he  saw  the  child,  the 
captain  would  gaze  at  her  with  lingering,  almost  passionate 
looks.  He  was  so  devoted  to  her  games,  and  took  so  much 
interest  in  her,  that  this  affection  drew  still  tighter  his  tie  to 
the  doctor,  who,  on  his  part,  never  dared  say  to  the  old 
bachelor — 

“ Have  you,  too,  lost  children  ? ” 

There  are  beings,  good  and  patient  as  he  was,  who  go 
through  life  with  a bitter  memory  in  their  hearts,  and  a smile, 
at  once  tender  and  sorrowful,  on  their  lips,  bearing  in  them 
the  answer  to  the  riddle,  but  never  allowing  it  to  be  guessed 
— out  of  pride,  or  scorn,  or  perhaps  revenge — having  none 
but  God  to  trust  in  or  to  comfort  them.  At  Nemours,  whither, 
like  the  doctor,  he  had  come  to  die  in  peace,  Monsieur  de 
Jordy  visited  nobody  but  the  cure,  who  was  always  at  the 
service  of  his  parishioners,  and  Madame  de  Portenduere,  who 
went  to  bed  at  nine  o’clock.  Thus  he,  weary  of  the  struggle, 
had  at  last  taken  to  going  to  bed  early  too,  notwithstanding 
the  thorns  that  stuffed  his  pillow.  Thus  it  was  a happy  chance 
for  the  doctor,  as  well  as  for  the  captain,  to  meet  a man  who 
had  known  the  same  society,  who  spoke  the  same  language, 
with  whom  he  could  exchange  ideas,  and  who  went  to  bed 
late.  When  once  Monsieur  de  Jordy,  the  Abbe  Chaperon, 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


33 


and  Minoret  had  spent  an  evening  together,  they  found  it  so 
pleasant  that  the  priest  and  the  soldier  came  in  every  evening 
at  nine  o’clock,  when,  little  Ursule  being  in  bed,  the  old  man 
was  free.  And  they  all  three  sat  talking  till  midnight,  or  one 
o’clock. 

Before  long  the  trio  became  a quartette.  Another  man, 
who  knew  life  well,  and  who  had  acquired  in  his  profession 
that  large-mindedness,  learning,  accumulated  observation, 
shrewdness,  and  power  of  conversation  which  the  soldier,  the 
physician,  and  the  priest  had  gained  in  dealing  with  souls, 
with  diseases,  and  with  teaching — the  judge  of  the  district, 
Monsieur  Bongrand — got  wind  of  the  pleasures  of  these  even- 
ings, and  made  himself  acquainted  with  the  doctor. 

Before  being  appointed  a justice  at  Nemours,  Monsieur  Bon- 
grand had  for  ten  years  been  attorney  at  Melun,  where  he 
himself  had  pleaded  in  court,  as  is  usual  (in  France)  in  towns 
where  there  is  no  bar.  At  the  age  of  forty-five  he  found 
himself  a widower ; but  feeling  too  active  to  do  nothing,  he 
had  applied  for  the  appointment  as  justice  of  the  peace  at 
Nemours,  which  had  fallen  vacant  some  months  before  the 
doctor’s  arrival.  The  keeper  of  the  seals  is  always  glad  to 
find  a practical  lawyer,  and  particularly  a well-to-do  man,  to 
hold  these  important  posts.  Monsieur  Bongrand  lived  very 
simply  at  Nemours  on  his  salary  of  fifteen  hundred  francs,  and 
could  thus  devote  the  rest  of  his  income  to  his  son,  who  was 
studying  for  the  bar  at  Paris,  and  at  the  same  time  working 
up  legal  procedure  under  Derville,  the  famous  attorney. 

The  elder  Bongrand  was  a good  deal  like  a retired  brigadier; 
his  was  a face,  not  naturally  pale,  but  washed  out,  where  busi- 
ness, disappointment,  and  disgust  had  left  their  marks ; it  was 
wrinkled  by  much  thought,  and  also  by  the  pinched  look  of 
a man  who  is  constantly  forced  not  to  say  all  he  thinks ; but 
it  was  often  illuminated  by  the  smiles  peculiar  to  men  who,  by 
turns,  believe  everything  or  believe  nothing,  who  are  accus- 
tomed to  see  and  hear  everything  without  surprise,  to  sound 
3 


34 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


the  depths  which  self-interest  reveals  at  the  bottom  of  men’s 
hearts.  Under  his  hair,  which  was  faded  rather  than  gray, 
and  brushed  in  smooth  waves  on  his  head,  rose  a sagacious 
brow,  its  yellow  tint  harmonizing  with  that  of  his  thin  locks. 
His  face,  being  rather  short,  gave  him  some  resemblance  to  a 
fox,  all  the  more  so  because  his  nose  was  short  and  sharp. 
As  he  spoke,  his  wide  mouth,  like  that  of  all  great  talkers, 
sputtered  out  a spray  of  white  foam-stars,  which  made  his 
conversation  so  showery  that  Goupil  used  to  say,  maliciously : 
“You  want  an  umbrella  while  you  listen  to  him,”  or,  “The 
justice  of  the  peace  rains  decisions.” 

His  eyes  seemed  keen  behind  his  spectacles,  but  if  he  took 
them  off  his  expression  was  dulled,  and  he  looked  stupid. 
Though  lively,  and  even  jovial,  by  his  manner  he  gave  him- 
self rather  too  much  the  airs  of  a man  of  importance.  His 
hands  were  almost  always  in  his  trousers’  pockets,  and  he  only 
took  them  out  to  settle  his  spectacles  on  his  nose  with  a sort  of 
mocking  gesture,  preliminary  to  some  acute  remark  or  clinch- 
ing argument.  These  movements,  with  his  loquacity  and  his 
innocent  pretentiousness,  betrayed  the  country  lawyer;  but 
such  slight  defects  were  merely  superficial ; he  made  up  for 
them  by  an  acquired  geniality,  which  an  exact  moralist  might 
define  as  the  indulgence  inherent  in  superiority.  And  if  he 
had  somewhat  the  look  of  a fox,  he  was  also  supposed  to  be 
extremely  wily,  without  being  dishonest.  His  cunning  was 
the  exercise  of  perspicacity.  Do  we  not  call  folks  cunning 
who  can  foresee  results,  and  avoid  the  snares  laid  for  them  ? 
The  lawyer  was  fond  of  whist,  a game  which  the  doctor  and 
the  captain  played,  and  which  the  priest  soon  learned  to  play 
with  equal  proficiency. 

This  little  party  created  an  oasis  for  themselves  in  Minoret’s 
drawing-room.  The  Nemours  town  doctor,  who  was  not 
deficient  in  education  or  manners,  and  who  respected  Minoret 
as  an  ornament  to  the  profession,  was  also  admitted  ; but  his 
business  and  fatigues,  which  compelled  him  to  go  to  bed  **rly 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


35 


that  he  might  rise  betimes,  hindered  him  from  being  so  regu- 
lar a visitor  as  the  doctor’s  three  friends  were. 

The  meetings  of  these  five  superior  men,  who  alone  in  all 
the  town  had  enough  general  culture  to  understand  each  other, 
accounts  for  Minoret’s  aversion  for  his  heirs;  though  he 
might  have  to  leave  them  his  fortune,  he  could  not  admit 
them  to  his  society.  Whether  the  postmaster,  the  registrar, 
and  the  receiver  understood  this  distinction,  or  were  reassured 
by  their  uncle’s  loyal  nature  and  benefactions,  they  ceased  at 
any  rate  to  call  on  him,  to  his  very  great  satisfaction. 

The  four  old  players  of  whist  and  backgammon  had,  within 
seven  or  eight  months  of  the  doctor’s  settling  at  Nemours, 
formed  a compact  and  exclusive  little  circle,  which  came  to 
each  of  them  as  a sort  of  autumnal  brotherhood,  quite  un- 
looked for,  and  therefore  all  the  sweeter  and  more  enjoyable. 
This  family  party  of  choice  spirits  found  in  Ursule  a child 
whom  each  could  adopt  after  his  manner : the  priest  thought 
of  her  soul,  the  lawyer  made  himself  her  protector,  the  soldier 
promised  himself  that  he  would  be  her  tutor ; as  for  Minoret, 
he  was  father,  mother,  and  doctor  in  one. 

After  acclimatizing  himself,  as  it  were,  the  old  man  fell 
into  habits  of  life,  regulated  as  it  must  be  in  all  provincial 
towns.  With  Ursule  as  an  excuse,  he  never  received  any  one 
in  the  morning,  and  asked  nobody  to  dinner ; his  friends 
could  join  him  at  six  o’clock,  and  remain  with  him  till  mid- 
night. The  first  comers  found  newspapers  on  the  drawing- 
room table,  and  read  while  waiting  for  the  others,  or  some- 
times went  to  meet  the  doctor  if  he  were  out  walking.  These 
quiet  habits  were  not  merely  the  requirement  of  old  age; 
they  were  also  a wise  and  deep-laid  precaution  on  the  part  of 
a man  of  the  world  to  prevent  his  happiness  being  troubled 
by  the  restless  curiosity  of  his  relations,  or  the  petty  gossip  of 
a country  town.  He  would  concede  nothing  to  the  capri- 
cious goddess  public  opinion,  whose  tyranny — one  of  the 
curses  of  France — was  about  to  be  established,  and  to  make 


36 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


our  whole  country  one  single  province.  So  as  soon  as  the 
little  girl  was  weaned  and  could  walk,  he  sent  away  the  cook 
whom  his  niece,  Madame  Minoret-Levrault,  had  found  for 
him,  on  discovering  that  she  reported  to  the  postmistress 
everything  that  went  on  in  his  house. 

Little  Ursule’s  nurse,  the  widow  of  a poor  laborer  owning 
no  name  but  that  he  was  christened  by,  and  who  came  from 
Bougival,  had  lost  her  last  baby  at  the  age  of  six  months ; and 
the  doctor,  knowing  her  to  be  an  honest  creature,  engaged 
her  as  wet  nurse,  in  pity  for  her  destitution.  Having  no 
money,  and  coming  from  La  Bresse,  where  her  family  lived  in 
poverty,  Antoinette  Patris,  widow  of  Pierre  dit  de  Bougival, 
naturally  attached  herself  to  Ursule,  as  foster-mothers  do 
attach  themselves  to  a sucking  child  as  it  grows  up.  This 
blind  motherly  affection  was  reinforced  by  domestic  attach- 
ment. Warned  beforehand  of  the  doctor’s  intentions,  La 
Bougival  learned  to  cook  on  the  sly,  made  herself  tidy,  and 
fell  into  the  old  man’s  ways.  She  took  the  greatest  care  of 
the  furniture  and  the  rooms ; in  short,  she  was  indefatigable. 
Not  only  did  the  doctor  insist  that  his  private  life  should  be 
screened  from  the  world  ; he  had  reasons  of  his  own  for  keep- 
ing all  knowledge  of  his  affairs  from  his  heirs.  Thus  by  the 
time  he  had  been  at  Nemours  a year  there  was  no  one  in  his 
house  but  La  Bougival,  on  whose  discretion  he  could  abso- 
lutely rely,  and  he  disguised  his  real  reasons  under  the  all- 
powerful  plea  of  economy.  To  the  great  joy  of  his  family, 
he  became  miserly.  Without  underhand  wheedling,  solely  as 
a result  of  her  solicitude  and  devotedness,  La  Bougival,  who 
at  the  time  when  this  drama  opens  was  forty-three  years  old, 
was  housekeeper  to  the  doctor  and  his  little  protege,  the 
pivot  on  which  the  whole  house  turned,  in  fact,  his  confi- 
dential servant.  She  had  been  named  La  Bougival  in  conse- 
quence of  the  impossibility  of  calling  her  by  her  Christian 
name  of  Antoinette,  for  names  and  faces  must  follow  a law  of 
harmony. 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


37 


The  doctor’s  avarice  was  not  an  empty  word ; but  it  was 
for  a purpose.  From  1817  he  gave  up  two  of  his  newspapers, 
and  ceased  to  subscribe  to  periodical  magazines.  His  annual 
outlay,  which  all  Nemours  could  reckon,  was  not  more  than 
eighteen  hundred  francs.  Like  all  old  men,  his  requirements 
in  linen,  clothing,  and  shoes  were  a mere  trifle.  Every  six 
months  he  made  a journey  to  Paris,  no  doubt  to  draw  and 
invest  his  dividends.  In  fifteen  years  he  never  said  a word 
that  had  anything  to  do  with  his  affairs.  His  confidence  in 
Bongrand  was  of  later  date ; he  never  spoke  to  him  of  his 
plans  till  after  the  Revolution  of  1830.  These  were  the  only 
things  in  the  doctor’s  life  known  at  that  time  to  the  townsfolk 
and  his  heirs.  As  to  his  political  opinions,  as  his  house  was 
rated  at  no  more  than  a hundred  francs  in  taxes,  he  never 
interfered,  and  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  subscriptions  on 
either  the  Royalist  or  the  Liberal  side.  His  well-known 
horror  of  priests  and  his  deism  so  little  loved  demonstrations, 
that  when  his  nephew,  Minoret-Levrault,  sent  a traveling 
bookseller  to  his  house  to  propose  that  he  should  buy  the 
“Cure  Meslier  ” and  “General  Foy’s  Addresses,”  he  turned 
the  man  out  of  the  house.  Tolerance  on  such  terms  was  quite 
inexplicable  to  the  Liberals  of  Nemours. 

The  doctor’s  three  collateral  heirs,  Minoret-Levrault  and 
his  wife,  Monsieur  and  Madame  Massin-Levrault,  junior, 
Monsieur  and  Madame  Cremiere-Cremiere — who  shall  be 
called  simply  Cremiere,  Massin,  and  Minoret,  since  such 
elaborate  distinctions  are  only  needed  in  the  Gatinais — these 
three  families,  too  busy  to  create  another  centre,  met  con- 
stantly, as  people  only  meet  in  small  towns.  The  postmaster 
gave  a grand  dinner  on  his  son’s  birthday,  a ball  at  the  Car- 
nival, and  another  on  the  anniversary  of  his  wedding-day, 
and  to  these  he  asked  all  the  townsfolk  of  Nemours.  The  tax- 
receiver  also  gathered  his  relations  and  friends  about  him 
twice  a year.  The  justice’s  registrar  being,  as  he  said,  too 
poor  to  launch  out  in  such  extravagance,  lived  narrowly  in  a 


38 


URSULE  MIROUET \ 


house  half-way  down  the  High  Street,  of  which  the  ground 
floor  was  let  to  his  sister,  the  mistress  of  the  letter-post — 
another  benefaction  of  the  doctor’s.  But  in  the  course  of 
the  year  these  three  inheritors  or  their  wives  met  in  the  town 
or  out  walking,  at  the  market  in  the  morning,  on  their  door- 
steps, or  on  Sunday,  after  mass,  on  the  church  square,  as  at 
this  moment,  so  that  they  saw  each  other  every  day. 

Now  for  the  last  three  years  more  especially,  the  doctor’s 
age,  his  miserliness,  and  his  fortune  justified  allusions  or 
direct  remarks  relating  to  their  prospects,  which,  passing 
from  one  to  another,  at  last  made  the  doctor  and  his  heirs 
equally  famous.  For  these  six  months  not  a week  had 
passed  without  the  friends  and  neighbors  of  the  Minoret 
family  speaking  to  them  with  covert  envy  of  the  day  when 
the  old  man’s  eyes  would  be  closed  and  his  money-boxes 
opened. 

“ Doctor  Minoret  may  be  a physician,  and  have  come  to 
an  understanding  with  death,”  said  one;  “but  only  God  is 
eternal.” 

“ Bah  ! he  will  bury  us  all ; he  is  in  better  health  than  we 
are,”  one  of  the  expectant  heirs  would  reply  hypocritically. 

“ Well,  if  you  don’t  get  it,  your  children  will — unless  that 
little  Ursule ” 

“ He  will  not  leave  her  everything?  ” another  would  reply, 
interrupting  the  last  speaker. 

Ursule,  as  Madame  Massin  had  prognosticated,  was  the 
real  bugbear  of  the  family,  the  Damocles’  sword ; and 
Madame  Cremiere’s  favorite  last  word,  “ Those  who  live 
will  know,”  showed  plainly  enough  that  they  wished  her  ill 
rather  than  well. 

The  tax-receiver  and  the  registrar,  who  were  poor  by  com- 
parison with  the  postmaster,  had  often,  by  way  of  conversa- 
tion, calculated  the  doctor’s  property.  As  they  walked  along 
by  the  canal  or  on  the  high-road,  if  they  saw  their  uncle 
coming  they  looked  at  each  other  piteously. 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


3§ 

“ He  has  provided  himself  with  some  elixir  of  life,  no 
doubt,”  said  the  one. 

“ He  is  in  league  with  the  devil,”  said  the  other. 

“ He  ought  to  leave  us  the  lion’s  share,  for  that  fat  Minoret 
wants  for  nothing.” 

“ Oh,  Minoret  has  a son  who  will  get  rid  of  a great  deal  of 
his  money  for  him!  ” 

“ How  much,  now,  do  you  suppose  the  doctor’s  fortune 
may  run  to?”  said  the  registrar. 

“Well,  at  the  end  of  twelve  years,  twelve  thousand  francs 
saved  every  year  come  to  a hundred  and  forty-four  thousand, 
and  compound  interest  will  have  produced  at  least  a hundred 
thousand  francs  more;  but  as,  under  his  Paris  lawyer’s  advice, 
he  must  have  turned  his  money  to  advantage  now  and  again, 
and  as  he  would  have  invested  up  to  1822  at  eight  or  seven 
and  a half  per  cent,  in  government  securities,  the  old  fellow 
must  at  this  time  have  about  four  hundred  thousand  francs  to 
turn  over,  to  say  nothing  of  his  fourteen  thousand  francs  at 
five  per  cent.,  worth  one  hundred  and  sixteen  at  the  present 
moment.  If  he  were  to  die  to-morrow  and  leave  Ursule  an 
equal  share,  we  should  get  seven  to  eight  hundred  thousand 
francs,  not  to  mention  the  house  and  furniture.” 

“ Well,  a hundred  thousand  to  Minoret,  a hundred  thou- 
sand to  the  little  girl,  and  three  hundred  thousand  to  each  of 
us.  That  would  be  the  fair  thing.” 

“ Yes,  that  would  keep  us  in  shoe-leather.” 

“ If  he  should  do  that,”  cried  Massin,  “ I would  sell  my 
appointment  and  buy  a fine  estate.  I would  try  to  be  made 
judge  at  Fontainebleau,  and  be  elected  deputy.” 

“ I would  buy  a stockbroker’s  business,”  said  the  tax- 
receiver. 

“ Unfortunately,  that  little  girl  on  his  arm  and  the  cure 
have  so  blockaded  him  that  we  cannot  get  at  him.” 

“ At  any  rate,  we  are  quite  certain  that  he  will  leave  noth- 
ing to  the  church.” 


40 


URSULE  MIROUET 


It  may  now  be  understood  that  the  heirs  were  in  agonies  at 
seeing  their  uncle  going  to  mass.  The  most  stupid  have  wit 
enough  to  imagine  injury  to  their  interests.  Interest  is  the 
moving  spirit  of  the  peasant  as  of  the  diplomat,  and  on  that 
ground  the  most  stupid  in  appearance  may  perhaps  prove  the 
sharpest.  Hence  this  terrible  argument:  “If  that  little 
Ursule  is  able  to  bring  her  protector  within  the  pale  of  the 
church,  she  will  certainly  have  power  to  secure  her  own  in- 
heritance,” blazed  out  in  letters  of  fire  in  the  mind  of  the 
most  obtuse  of  the  inheritors.  The  postmaster  had  forgotten 
the  enigma  in  his  son’s  letter  in  hurrying  to  the  square;  for 
if  the  doctor  were  really  in  church  following  the  order  of 
prayer,  they  might  lose  two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  francs. 
It  must  be  admitted  that  their  fears  were  based  on  the  strongest 
and  most  legitimate  of  social  sentiments,  namely,  on  family 
interest. 

“Well,  Monsieur  Minoret,”  said  the  mayor — a retired 
miller  who  had  turned  Royalist,  a Levrault-Cremiere — “ when 
the  devil  was  old,  the  devil  a monk  would  be  ! Your  uncle, 
I am  told,  has  come  over  to  us.” 

“ Better  late  than  never,  cousin,”  replied  the  postmaster, 
trying  to  conceal  his  annoyance. 

“ How  that  man  would  laugh  if  we  were  disappointed  ! 
He  is  quite  capable  of  making  his  son  marry  that  cursed 
little  hussy.  May  the  devil  get  his  tail  round  her  ! ” cried 
Cremiere,  shaking  his  fist  at  the  mayor  as  he  went  in  under 
the  porch. 

“What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  old  Cremiere?”  said 
the  butcher,  the  eldest  son  of  a Levrault-Levrault.  “Is  he 
not  pleased  to  see  his  uncle  take  the  road  to  paradise?  ” 

“ Who  would  ever  have  believed  it?”  said  the  registrar. 

“ It  is  never  safe  to  say  to  the  well,  ‘ I will  never  drink  of 
your  water ! ’ ” replied  the  notary,  who,  seeing  the  group 
from  afar,  left  his  wife  to  go  on  to  church  alone. 

“Now,  Monsieur  Dionis,”  said  Cremiere,  taking  the 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


41 


lawyer  by  the  arm,  4 ‘what  do  you  advise  us  to  do  in  these 
circumstances  ? ” 

“I  advise  you,”  said  Dionis,  addressing  the  expectant 
heirs,  “ to  go  to  bed  and  get  up  at  the  usual  hours,  to  eat  your 
soup  before  it  gets  cold,  to  put  your  shoes  on  your  feet  and 
your  hat  on  your  head ; in  short,  to  go  on  exactly  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.” 

“You  are  a poor  comforter ! ” said  Massin  with  a cunning 
glance. 

In  _spite  of  his  short,  fat  figure,  and  his  thick,  crushed- 
looking  features,  Cremiere-Dionis  was  as  slippery  as  silk.  To 
make  a fortune  he  was  in  secret  partnership  with  Massin, 
whom  he  no  doubt  kept  informed  when  peasants  were  in  diffi- 
culties, and  which  plots  of  ground  lie  might  devour.  So  the 
two  men  could  pick  and  choose,  never  letting  a good  chance 
escape  them,  and  dividing  the  profits  of  this  usury  on  mort- 
gage, which  delays,  though  it  cannot  hinder,  the  action  of  the 
peasantry  on  the  land.  Hence  Dionis  felt  a keen  interest  in 
the  doctor’s  will,  less  on  account  of  Minoret  the  postmaster 
and  Cremiere  the  tax-receiver  than  for  his  friend  the  regis- 
trar’s sake.  Massin’s  share  would,  sooner  or  later,  come  to 
swell  the  capital  on  which  the  partners  traded  in  the  district. 

“ We  must  try  to  find  out,  through  Monsieur  Bongrand, 
who  has  fired  this  shot,”  replied  the  lawyer  in  a low  voice,  as 
a warning  to  Massin  to  lay  low. 

“What  are  you  doing  here,  Minoret?”  was  suddenly 
heard  from  a little  woman  who  bore  down  on  the  group,  in 
the  midst  of  which  the  postmaster  was  visible  as  a tower. 
“You  do  not  know  what  has  become  of  Desire,  and  you  seem 
to  have  taken  root  there  on  your  two  feet  when  I fancied 
you  were  on  horseback  ! Good-morning,  ladies  and  gentle- 
men ! ” 

This  spare  little  woman,  pale  and  fair,  dressed  in  a cotton 
gown — white,  with  a large  flowered  pattern  in  chocolate- 
color — in  an  embroidered  cap  trimmed  with  lace,  and  a small 


42 


UR  SOLE  MIROUET. 


green  shawl  over  her  flat  shoulders,  was  the  postmistress,  who 
made  the  stoutest  postillions  quake,  the  servants,  and  the 
carters ; who  kept  the  till  and  the  books  ; and  managed  the 
house  with  her  finger  and  eye,  as  the  neighbors  were  in  the 
habit  of  saying.  Like  a true,  thrifty  housewife,  she  had  not 
a single  article  of  jewelry.  She  did  not  “ favor  frippery  and 
trash,”  as  she  put  it;  she  liked  what  was  durable,  and,  in 
spite  of  its  being  Sunday,  she  had  on  her  black  silk  apron 
with  pockets,  in  which  a bunch  of  keys  jingled.  Her  shrill 
voice  was  ear-splitting.  In  spite  of  the  sweet  blue  of  her 
eyes,  her  hard  gaze  was  in  evident  harmony  with  the  thin  lips 
of  a tightly  set  mouth,  and  a high,  projecting,  and  very 
despotic  brow.  Her  glance  was  sharp,  sharper  still  were  her 
gestures  and  words.  “ Zelie  being  obliged  to  have  will  enough 
for  two,  had  always  had  enough  for  three,”  Goupil  used  to  say  ; 
and  it  was  he  who  noted  the  successive  reigns  of  three  young 
post-boys,  very  neatly  kept,  whom  Zelie  had  set  up  after 
seven  years’  service.  Indeed,  the  spiteful  clerk  always  called 
them  Postillion  I.,  Postillion  II.,  and  Postillion  III.  But  the 
small  influence  exerted  in  the  house  by  these  young  men,  and 
their  perfect  obedience,  proved  that  Zelie  had  simply  and 
purely  taken  an  interest  in  really  good  fellows. 

“ Ay,  Zelie  values  zeal,”  the  clerk  would  reply  to  any  one 
who  made  such  a remark. 

This  piece  of  scandal  was,  however,  improbable.  Since  the 
birth  of  her  son,  whom  she  nursed  herself,  though  it  was  im- 
possible to  see  how,  the  postmistress  had  thought  only  of  add- 
ing to  her  fortune,  and  devoted  herself  without  respite  to  the 
management  of  her  immense  business.  To  rob  her  of  a truss 
of  straw  or  a few  bushels  of  oats,  to  detect  her  in  error  in  the 
most  complicated  accounts,  was  a thing  impossible,  though 
she  wrote  a cat’s  scrawl,  and  knew  nothing  of  arithmetic 
beyond  addition  and  subtraction.  She  walked  out  solely  to 
inspect  her  hay,  her  oats,  and  her  after-crops ; then  she  would 
send  her  man  to  fetch  in  the  crops,  and  her  postillions  to  pack 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


43 


the  hay,  and  tell  them  within  a hundredweight  how  much 
they  could  get  off  this  or  that  field.  Though  she  was  the  soul 
of  the  huge  body  known  as  Minoret-Levrault,  and  led  him  by 
his  idiotically  snub  nose,  she  was  liable  to  the  frights  which 
more  or  less  constantly  agitate  those  who  quell  and  lead  wild 
beasts,  and  she  quarreled  with  him  frequently.  The  post- 
boys knew  by  the  rowings  they  got  from  Minoret  when  his 
wife  had  scolded  him,  for  her  rage  glanced  off  on  to  them. 
But,  indeed,  Madame  Minoret  was  as  shrewd  as  she  was 
avaricious. 

“ Where  would  Minoret  be  without  his  wife?”  was  a by- 
word in  more  than  one  household  in  the  town. 

“ When  you  hear  what  is  happening  to  us  you  will  be  beside 
yourself  too,”  replied  the  Master  of  Nemours. 

“ Well,  what  is  it  ? ” 

“Ursule  has  taken  Doctor  Minoret  to  mass.” 

Zelie  Levrault’s  eyes  seemed  to  dilate;  for  an  instant  she 
was  silent,  yellow  with  rage;  then  crying,  “ I must  see  it  to 
believe  it,”  she  rushed  into  the  church.  The  Host  was  just 
elevated.  Favored  by  the  general  attitude  of  worship,  she 
was  able  to  look  along  each  row  of  chairs  and  benches  as  she 
went  up  past  the  chapels  to  the  place  where  Ursule  knelt,  and 
by  her  side  she  saw  the  old  man  bareheaded. 

If  you  can  recall  the  portraits  of  Barbe-Marbois,  Boissy- 
d’Anglas,  Morellet,  Helvetius,  and  Frederick  the  Great,  you 
will  have  an  exact  idea  of  the  head  of  Doctor  Minoret,  who  in 
his  green  old  age  was  a good  deal  like  these  famous  personages. 
These  heads,  struck  as  it  might  seem  from  the  same  die,  for  they 
lend  themselves  to  the  medalist’s  art,  present  a severe  and 
almost  puritanical  profile,  cold  coloring,  a mathematical  brain, 
a certain  narrowness  of  face,  as  if  it  had  been  squeezed,  astute 
eyes,  grave  lips,  and  something  aristocratic  in  sentiment  rather 
than  in  habits,  in  the  intellect  rather  than  in  the  character. 
They  all  have  lofty  foreheads,  receding  a little  at  the  top, 
which  betrays  a tendency  to  materialism.  You  will  find  all 


44 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


these  leading  characteristics  of  the  head,  and  the  look  of  the 
face,  in  the  portraits  of  the  encyclopedists,  of  the  orators  of 
the  Girondins,  and  of  the  men  of  that  time  whose  religious 
belief  was  almost  a blank,  and  who,  though  calling  themselves 
deists,  were  atheists.  A deist  is  an  atheist  with  an  eye  to  the 
off-chance  of  some  advantage. 

Old  Minoret  had  a forehead  of  this  type,  but  furrowed  with 
wrinkles,  and  it  derived  a sort  of  childlike  ingenuousness 
from  the  way  in  which  his  silvery  hair,  combed  back  like  a 
woman’s  at  her  toilet,  curled  in  thin  locks  on  his  black  coat ; 
for  he  persisted  in  dressing,  as  in  the  days  of  his  youth,  in 
black  silk  stockings,  shoes  with  gold  buckles,  knee-breeches 
of  rich  silk,  a white  waistcoat,  across  which  lay  the  black  rib- 
bon of  Saint  Michael,  and  a black  coat  with  the  red  rosette 
in  the  buttonhole.  This  characteristic  head,  its  cold  pallor 
softened  by  the  ivory-yellow  tone  of  old  age,  was  under  the 
full  light  from  a window.  At  the  moment  when  the  postmis- 
tress came  in,  the  doctor’s  blue  eyes,  with  slightly  reddened 
lids  and  pathetic  lines,  were  fixed  on  the  altar ; new  convic- 
tion had  given  them  a new  expression.  His  spectacles,  laid 
in  his  prayer-book,  marked  the  page  where  he  had  ceased  to 
read.  With  his  arms  folded  across  his  breast,  the  tall,  spare 
old  man,  standing  in  an  attitude  which  proclaimed  the  full 
power  of  all  his  faculties,  and  something  immovable  in  his 
faith,  never  ceased  from  gazing  at  the  altar  with  a humble 
look,  rejuvenescent  through  hope ; not  choosing  to  see  his 
nephew’s  wife,  who  stood  rooted  almost  face  to  face  with  him, 
as  if  to  reproach  him  for  this  return  to  God. 

On  seeing  every  face  turned  to  look  at  her,  Zelie  hastily  re- 
tired, and  came  out  on  to  the  square  again  less  precipitately 
than  she  had  gone  into  the  church ; she  had  counted  on  that 
inheritance,  and  the  inheritance  was  becoming  problematical. 
She  found  the  registrar,  the  tax-receiver,  and  their  wives  in 
even  greater  consternation  than  before.  Goupil  had  taken 
pleasure  in  tormenting  them. 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


45 


“ It  is  not  here,  on  the  square,  and  under  the  eyes  of  the 
whole  town,  that  we  can  discuss  our  private  affairs,”  said  the 
postmistress;  “come  to  my  house.  You  will  not  be  in  the 
way,  Monsieur  Dionis,”  she  added  to  the  lawyer. 

So  the  probable  disinheritance  of  the  Massins,  the  Cre- 
mieres,  and  the  postmaster  was  to  become  the  talk  of  the 
country. 

Just  as  the  heirs  and  the  notary  were  about  to  cross  the 
square  on  their  way  to  the  house,  the  clatter  of  the  diligence 
arriving  at  top-speed  made  a tremendous  noise ; it  stopped  at 
the  coach-office,  a few  yards  from  the  church,  at  the  top  of  the 
High  Street. 

“ Why,  like  you,  Minoret,  I had  forgotten  Desire,”  said 
Zelie.  “ Let  us  go  to  meet  him  ; he  is  almost  a lawyer  now, 
and  this  business  is  partly  his  concern.” 

The  arrival  of  a diligence  is  always  a diversion,  and  when 
it  is  behind  time  something  interesting  may  be  expected ; so 
the  crowd  rushed  to  see  the  “ Dueler.” 

“There  is  Desire,”  was  a general  cry. 

At  once  the  tyrant  and  the  ringleader  of  fun  in  Nemours, 
Desire’s  visits  always  brought  some  excitement  to  the  town. 
A favorite  with  the  young  men,  to  whom  he  was  liberal,  his 
presence  was  to  them  a stimulant ; but  his  pleasures  were  so 
much  dreaded,  that  more  than  one  family  was  glad  that  his 
studies  for  the  law  should  be  carried  on  in  Paris.  Desire 
Minoret,  slight,  thin,  and  fair  like  his  mother,  with  her  blue 
eyes  and  colorless  complexion,  smiled  at  the  crowd  from  the 
coach  door,  and  jumped  out  to  embrace  her.  A slight  sketch 
of  this  youth  will  explain  Zelie’s  flattered  pride  on  beholding 
him. 

The  young  law  student  wore  neat  little  boots,  white  English 
drill  trousers  with  patent-leather  straps,  a handsome  cravat 
carefully  folded,  and  a still  handsomer  pin,  a smart  fancy 
waistcoat,  and  in  its  pocket  a flat  watch  with  a dangling 
chain  ; a short  blue  cloth  overcoat,  and  a gray  hat.  But 


46 


UR  SUL  E MI ROUE  T. 


vulgar  riches  were  betrayed  in  the  gold  buttons  to  his  waist- 
coat, and  a ring  worn  outside  his  gloves  of  purplish  kid.  He 
carried  a cane  with  a chased  gold  knob. 

i ‘You  will  lose  your  watch,”  said  his  mother  as  she  kissed 
him. 

“It  is  worn  so,”  said  he,  submitting  to  his  father’s  em- 
brace. 

“Well,  cousin,  so  you  will  soon  be  a full-blown  lawyer,” 
said  Massin. 

“I  am  to  be  sworn  when  the  courts  reopen,”  said  he, 
waving  an  acknowledgment  of  the  friendly  greetings  of  the 
crowd. 

“Then  we  shall  have  some  fun?”  said  Goupil,  shaking 
hands  with  him. 

“ Ah  ! there  you  are,  old  ape  ! ” answered  Desire. 

“ Having  worked  for  your  license,  you  think  you  may  take 
it,  I suppose  ! ” retorted  the  clerk,  mortified  at  being  so 
familiarly  treated  before  so  many  people. 

“For  his  lies?  Take  what?”  asked  Madame  Cremiere  of 
her  husband. 

“You  know  all  my  things,  Cabirolle ! ” cried  Desire  to  the 
old  purple  and  pimply-faced  conductor.  “ Have  them  all 
taken  down  to  the  house.” 

“Your  horses  are  in  a lather,”  said  Zelie  roughly  to  Cabi- 
rolle. “ Have  you  no  sense  at  all  that  you  drive  them  like 
that  ? You  are  a greater  brute  than  they  are.” 

“But  Monsieur  Desire  insisted  on  getting  on  as  fast  as 
possible,  to  relieve  your  anxiety.” 

“As  there  has  been  no  accident,  why  risk  killing  your 
horses  ? ” said  she. 

Friendly  greetings,  hand-shaking,  and  the  eagerness  of  his 
young  acquaintance  surrounding  Desire,  all  the  incidents  of 
arrival,  and  details  as  to  the  accident  which  had  occasioned 
the  delay,  took  up  so  much  time  that  the  party  of  inheritors, 
increased  by  their  friends,  got  back  to  the  church  just  as  mass 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


47 


was  ended.  By  a trick  of  chance,  which  allows  itself  strange 
caprices,  Desire  saw  Ursule  under  the  church  porch  as  he 
passed,  and  was  quite  startled  by  her  beauty.  The  young  man 
suddenly  paused,  and  necessarily  checked  the  movements  of 
his  parents. 

Ursule  had  taken  her  godfather’s  arm,  which  obliged  her  to 
hold  her  prayer-book  in  her  right  hand  and  her  parasol  in  the 
left ; and,  in  doing  so,  she  displayed  the  native  grace  with 
which  graceful  women  manage  to  get  over  the  little  difficulties 
of  their  dainty  womanhood.  If  the  mind  betrays  itself  in 
everything,  it  may  be  said  that  her  demeanor  expressed  her 
exquisite  ingenuousness. 

Ursule  wore  a white  muslin  dress,  shaped  loosely  like  a 
dressing-gown,  with  blue  bows  at  intervals  ; the  cape,  trimmed 
with  similar  ribbon  run  into  a wide  hem,  and  fastened  like 
the  dress  with  bows,  suggested  the  beauty  of  her  figure;  her 
throat,  of  ivory  whiteness,  was  thrown  into  charming  relief 
by  all  this  blue — the  true  cosmetic  for  fair  complexions. 

A blue  sash,  with  floating  ends,  marked  a girlish  waist  and 
what  seemed  a pliant  figure,  one  of  the  most  seductive  graces 
of  woman.  She  wore  a rice-straw  hat,  simply  trimmed  with 
ribbons  to  match  those  on  her  dress.  It  was  tied  with  a 
bow  under  her  chin  ; and  this,  while  enhancing  the  excessive 
whiteness  of  the  hat,  did  not  detract  from  that  of  her  lovely 
complexion. 

Her  fine,  bright  hair,  which  she  herself  dressed  in  wide 
plaits,  fastened  into  loops  on  each  side  of  her  face  a la  Berthe , 
caught  the  eye  by  the  shining  bosses  of  the  crossing  tresses. 
Her  gray  eyes,  soft,  though  proud,  harmonized  with  a well- 
moulded  brow.  A delicate  color  flushed  her  cheeks  like  a 
rosy  cloud,  and  gave  life  to  a face  that  was  regular  without 
being  insipid,  for  nature  had  bestowed  on  her  the  rare  priv- 
ilege of  a pure  outline  with  an  expressive  countenance. 

The  virtue  of  her  life  was  written  in  the  perfect  accordance 
of  her  features,  her  movements,  and  the  general  expression 


48 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


of  her  individuality,  which  might  serve  as  a model  of  trust- 
fulness or  of  modesty. 

Her  health  was  excellent,  but  not  coarsely  robust,  so  that  she 
looked  elegant.  Her  light  gloves  left  it  to  be  inferred  that 
she  had  pretty  hands.  Her  arched  and  slender  feet  were  shod 
with  dainty  little  bronze  kid  boots,  trimmed  with  a fringe  of 
brown  silk.  Her  blue  sash,  in  which  a little  flat  watch  made 
a boss,  while  a blue  purse  with  gold  tassels  hung  through  it, 
attracted  the  eye  of  every  woman  there,  and  gave  cause  for 
remark. 

“ He  has  given  her  a new  watch,”  said  Madame  Cremiere, 
squeezing  her  husband’s  arm. 

“Why,  it  is  Ursule!”  exclaimed  Desire.  “I  did  not 
recognize  her.” 

“Well,  my  dear  uncle,  this  is  an  event  ! ” said  the  post- 
master, pointing  to  where  the  whole  town  had  fallen  into  two 
lines  along  the  old  man’s  way.  “Everybody  wants  to  see 
you.” 

“ Is  it  the  Abbe  Chaperon  or  Ursule  who  has  converted 
you,  uncle?”  said  Massin,  bowing  with  jesuitical  obsequious- 
ness to  the  doctor  and  his  companion. 

“It  is  Ursule,”  said  the  old  man  curtly,  and  without  stop- 
ping, as  a man  who  is  annoyed. 

The  evening  before,  as  he  finished  his  rubber  with  Ursule, 
the  town  doctor,  and  Bongrand,  he  had  said,  “ I shall  go  to 
mass  to-morrow;”  and  even  if  the  justice  had  not  then  re- 
plied, “Your  heirs  will  never  have  another  night’s  sleep  ! ” a 
single  glance  now  would  have  sufficed  to  enable  the  sagacious 
and  clear-sighted  old  man  to  read  the  temper  of  his  heirs  in 
the  look  of  their  faces.  Zelie’s  irruption  into  the  church,  the 
flash  he  had  caught  in  her  eye,  the  meeting  of  all  the  inter- 
ested parties  on  the  square,  and  the  expression  of  their  coun- 
tenances on  seeing  Ursule — all  revealed  freshly  revived  hatred 
and  sordid  fears. 

“This  is  your  doing,  mademoiselle,”  said  Madame  Cr6- 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


49 


miere,  interposing  with  a low  courtesy.  “It  is  no  trouble  to 
you  to  work  miracles.’ * 

“The  miracle  is  God’s,  madame,”  replied  Ursule. 

“ Oh,  indeed  ! God’s,”  exclaimed  Minoret-Levrault.  “My 
father-in-law  used  to  say  that  God  was  a name  for  many  a 
dark  horse.” 

“ His  ideas  were  those  of  a horse  coper  ! ” said  the  doctor 
severely. 

“ Now,  then,”  said  Minoret  to  his  wife  and  son,  “are  you 
not  coming  to  pay  your  respects  to  my  uncle  ? ” 

“I  could  not  contain  myself  face  to  face  with  that  sneaking 
slut  ! ” exclaimed  Zelie,  leading  away  her  son. 

“You  would  be  wise,  uncle,”  said  Madame  Massin,  “not 
to  go  to  church  without  a little  black  velvet  cap ; the  parish 
church  is  very  damp.” 

“ Pah ! niece,”  said  the  old  man,  looking  round  at  his  fol- 
lowers. “The  sooner  I am  laid  to  rest,  the  sooner  you  will 
dance.” 

He  walked  on,  dragging  Ursule  with  him,  and  seeming  in 
such  haste  that  they  were  left  to  themselves. 

“Why  do  you  answer  them  with  such  hard  words?  It  is 
not  kind,”  said  Ursule,  shaking  his  arm  with  a little  refrac- 
tory gesture. 

“ My  hatred  for  hypocrites  has  always  been  the  same,  be- 
fore as  well  as  since  my  conversion.  I have  done  them  all 
kindness,  and  I do  not  ask  for  gratitude  ; but  not  one  of  all 
those  people  sent  a flower  on  your  birthday,  the  only  day  I 
keep.” 

At  some  little  distance  from  the  doctor  and  Ursule,  Ma- 
dame de  Portenduere  was  dragging  herself  along,  overwhelmed, 
as  it  seemed,  with  suffering.  She  was  one  of  those  old  women 
in  whose  dress  we  may  still  trace  the  spirit  of  the  last  century, 
who  wear  pansy-colored  gowns  with  tight  sleeves  of  a cut  now 
only  to  be  seen  in  portraits  by  Madame  Lebrun ; black  lace 
scarfs,  and  bonnets  of  extinct  shapes,  in  harmony  with  their 
4 


50 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


slow  and  solemn  gait ; as  if  they  still  walked  in  hoops,  and 
felt  them  about  them,  as  those  who  have  had  an  arm  cut  off 
sometimes  move  the  limb  they  have  lost.  Their  long,  pale 
faces,  with  deeply  shadowed  eyes  and  blighted  brows,  are  not 
devoid  of  a certain  melancholy  grace  in  spite  of  a front  of 
dejected  curls ; they  drape  their  heads  in  old  lace,  which  now 
has  no  light  flutter  over  their  cheeks  ; but  over  the  whole 
mass  of  ruins  predominates  an  indescribable  dignity  of  man- 
ner and  look. 

This  old  lady’s  red  and  puckered  eyes  plainly  showed  that 
she  had  wept  during  the  service.  She  walked  like  a person 
in  some  anxiety,  and  seemed  to  be  expecting  somebody,  for 
she  looked  back.  Now,  that  Madame  de  Portenduere  should 
look  back  was  an  event  as  serious  as  Doctor  Minoret’s  conver- 
sion. 

“ To  whom  can  Madame  Portenduere  owe  a grudge?”  said 
Madame  Massin,  as  she  came  up  with  the  heirs,  who  were 
dumfounded  by  the  doctor’s  retorts. 

“ She  is  looking  for  the  cure,”  said  Dionis,  striking  his 
forehead  like  a man  suddenly  struck  by  a remembrance  or 
some  forgotten  idea.  “I  have  it!  I see  my  way;  the  in- 
heritance is  saved  ! Come,  we  will  all  breakfast  cheerfully 
with  Madame  Minoret.” 

The  eagerness  with  which  the  whole  party  followed  the 
notary  to  the  posting-house  may  easily  be  imagined.  Goupil 
clung  to  his  comrade,  taking  his  arm,  saying  in  his  ear  with  a 
revolting  smile  : “ There  are  crayfish  ! ” 

“What  do  I care?”  replied  the  son  of  the  house  with  a 
shrug.  “ I am  madly  in  love  with  Florine,  the  most  heavenly 
creature  in  the  world.” 

“What  on  earth  is  Florine  without  a surname?”  asked 
Goupil.  “I  am  too  much  your  friend  to  allow  you  to  be 
made  a fool  of  by  hussies.” 

“ Florine  is  adored  by  the  famous  Nathan,  and  my  folly  is 
of  no  use,  for  she  positively  refuses  to  marry  me.” 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


51 


“ Girls  who  are  rash  with  their  bodies  are  sometimes  pru- 
dent with  their  brains,”  said  Goupil. 

“ If  you  could  but  see  her,  only  once,  you  would  not  make 
use  of  such  expressions,”  said  Desire  languishingly. 

“If  I saw  you  destroying  your  prospects  for  what  can  be 
only  a fancy,”  retorted  Goupil,  with  a warmth  that  might 
perhaps  have  taken  in  Bongrand,  “I  would  go  and  wreck 
that  doll  as  Varney  wrecked  Amy  Robsart  in  Kenilworth  ! 
Your  wife  ought  to  be  a d’Aiglemont,  a Mademoiselle  du 
Rouvre,  and  open  your  way  to  being  a deputy  to  the  Cham- 
ber. My  future  is  mortgaged  to  yours,  and  I will  not  allow 
you  to  play  the  fool.” 

“I  am  rich  enough  to  be  content  with  happiness,”  replied 
D6sir6. 

“Well,  what  are  you  two  plotting?”  said  Zelie  to  Goupil, 
hailing  the  two  young  men,  who  were  standing  together  in 
the  wide  stable-yard. 

The  doctor  turned  down  the  Rue  des  Bourgeois,  and  walked 
on,  as  briskly  as  a young  man,  to  his  house,  where,  in  the  course 
of  the  past  week,  the  strange  event  had  taken  place  which  was 
just  now  the  ruling  thought  of  all  the  town  of  Nemours,  and 
of  which  some  account  must  be  given  to  render  this  story, 
and  the  notary’s  singular  remark  to  the  heirs,  more  perfectly 
intelligible. 

The  doctor’s  father-in-law,  the  famous  harpsichord  player 
and  instrument-maker,  Valentin  Mirouet,  one  of  our  most 
celebrated  organists,  died  in  1785,  leaving  a natural  son,  the 
child  of  his  old  age,  whom  he  had  recognized  and  called  by  his 
name,  but  who  was  a thorough  scapegrace.  He  had  not  the 
consolation  of  seeing  this  spoilt  child  when  on  his  death-bed  ; 
Joseph  Mirouet,  a singer  and  composer,  after  coming  out  in 
Italian  opera  under  an  assumed  name,  had  run  away  to  Ger- 
many with  a young  girl.  The  old  instrument-maker  recom- 
mended this  lad,  who  was  full  of  talent,  to  his  son-in-law. 


52 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


explaining  that  his  object  in  not  marrying  the  boy’s  mother 
was  to  protect  the  interests  of  his  daughter,  Madame  Minoret. 
The  doctor  promised  to  give  the  unfortunate  youth  half  of 
the  property  left  by  the  old  man,  whose  stock  and  business 
were  bought  up  by  Erard. 

He  set  to  work  diplomatically  to  find  his  natural  half- 
brother,  Joseph  Mirouet ; but  one  evening  Grimm  told  him 
that,  after  enlisting  in  a Prussian  regiment,  the  artist  had  de- 
serted, and,  taking  a false  name,  had  escaped  all  search. 

Joseph  Mirouet,  gifted  by  nature  with  an  enchanting  voice, 
a fine  figure,  and  a handsome  face,  being  a composer  of  taste 
and  spirit  into  the  bargain,  led  for  fifteen  years  the  Bohemian 
existence  which  Hofmann  of  Berlin  has  so  well  described. 
But  at  the  age  of  forty  he  was  reduced  to  such  misery  that  in 
1806  he  seized  the  opportunity  of  becoming  a Frenchman 
again.  He  then  settled  at  Hamburg,  where  he  married  the 
daughter  of  a respectable  citizen,  who,  being  music-mad,  fell 
in  love  with  the  singer,  whose  fame  was  still  in  the  future,  and 
who  devoted  herself  to  its  attainment.  But  after  fifteen  years 
of  penury,  Joseph  Mirouet’s  head  could  not  stand  the  wine 
of  opulence;  his  extravagant  nature  reasserted  itself;  and, 
though  he  made  his  wife  happy,  in  a few  years  he  had  spent 
all  her  fortune.  Misery  again  came  upon  them.  The  house- 
hold must  indeed  have  been  living  wretchedly  for  Joseph 
Mirouet  to  come  down  to  enlisting  as  one  of  the  band  in  a 
French  regiment. 

In  1813,  by  the  merest  chance,  the  surgeon-major  of  this 
regiment,  struck  by  the  name  of  Mirouet,  wrote  to  Doctor 
Minoret,  to  whom  he  owed  some  obligation.  The  reply  came 
at  once.  In  1814,  before  the  capitulation  of  Paris,  Joseph 
Mirouet  had  found  a home  there,  and  there  his  wife  died  in 
giving  birth  to  a little  girl  whom  the  doctor  named  Ursule, 
after  his  wife.  The  bandmaster  did  not  long  survive  his  wife ; 
he,  like  her,  was  worn  out  by  fatigue  and  privation.  On  his 
death-bed  the  hapless  musician  bequeathed  his  little  girl  to  the 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


53 


doctor,  who  was  her  godfather,  in  spite  of  his  repugnance  for 
what  he  called  church  mummeries. 

After  losing  every  child,  either  by  miscarriage,  at  the  time 
of  its  birth,  or  within  the  first  year  of  its  life,  the  doctor  had 
anxiously  looked  forward  to  their  last  hope.  But  when  a 
sickly,  nervous,  delicate  woman  begins  with  a miscarriage,  it 
is  common  enough  to  see  her  successive  failures,  as  in  the  case 
of  Ursule  Minoret,  in  spite  of  her  husband’s  care,  watchful- 
ness, and  learning.  The  poor  man  had  often  blamed  himself 
for  their  persistent  desire  to  have  children.  The  last  of  the 
little  ones  born  to  them,  after  an  interval  of  more  than  two 
years,  died  in  1792,  the  victim  of  constitutional  nervousness, 
inherited  from  its  mother,  if  we  may  believe  the  physiologists, 
who  say  that,  in  the  inscrutable  phenomena  of  generation,  a 
child  takes  its  blood  from  the  father  and  its  nervous  system 
from  the  mother.  The  doctor,  compelled  to  forego  the  joys 
of  his  strongest  feelings,  no  doubt  found  in  benevolence  some 
indemnity  for  disappointed  fatherhood. 

All  through  his  married  life,  so  cruelly  agitated,  he  had 
wished  above  everything  for  a little  fair  girl,  one  of  those 
flowers  which  are  the  delight  of  a household  ; so  he  gladly 
accepted  his  half-brother’s  bequest,  and  transferred  all  his 
vanished  hopes  and  dreams  to  the  little  orphan.  For  two 
years  he  watched  over  the  minutest  details  of  Ursule’s  life,  as 
Cato  over  Pompey;  he  would  not  have  her  fed,  or  taken  up, 
or  put  to  bed  without  his  superintendence.  His  experience 
and  his  science  were  all  devoted  to  this  child.  After  endur- 
ing all  the  pangs,  the  alternations  of  fear  and  hope,  the 
anxieties  and  joys  of  a mother,  he  was  so  happy  as  to  find 
vigorous  vitality  and  a deeply  sensitive  nature  in  this  child  of 
the  flaxen-haired  German  mother  and  the  artistic  Frenchman. 
The  happy  old  man  watched  the  growth  of  that  yellow  hair 
with  the  feelings  of  a mother — first  pale  down,  then  silk,  then 
light,  fine  hair,  so  caressing  to  the  touch  of  caressing  fingers. 
He  would  kiss  the  tiny  feet,  the  toes  through  whose  fine  skin 


54 


URSULE  M1R0UET. 


the  blood  shows  pink,  making  them  look  like  rosebuds.  He 
was  crazy  over  the  child. 

When  she  tried  to  speak,  or  when  she  fixed  her  lovely,  soft 
blue  eyes  on  the  objects  about  her,  with  the  wondering  look 
which  would  seem  to  be  the  dawning  of  ideas,  and  which  she 
ended  with  a laugh,  he  would  sit  in  front  of  her  for  whole 
hours,  and  he  and  Jordy  would  try  to  find  out  the  reasons — 
which  to  many  have  seemed  mere  caprices — concealed  under 
the  smallest  manifestations  of  that  delightful  phase  of  life 
when  the  child  is  at  once  flower  and  fruit,  a bewildered  intel- 
ligence, perpetual  motion,  and  vehement  desire.  Little 
Ursule’s  beauty  and  sweetness  made  her  so  precious  to  the 
doctor  that  for  her  he  would  gladly  have  changed  the  laws  of 
nature  ; he  would  sometimes  tell  his  friend  Jordy  that  he 
suffered  from  pain  in  his  teeth  when  Ursule  was  cutting  hers. 

When  old  men  love  a child  there  is  no  limit  to  their  pas- 
sion ; they  adore  it.  For  this  tiny  creature’s  sake  they 
silence  their  pet  manias,  and  recall  every  detail  of  their  past 
life.  Their  experience,  their  forbearance,  their  patience,  all 
the  acquisitions  of  life — a treasure  so  painfully  amassed — are 
poured  out  for  this  young  life  by  which  they  grow  young 
again,  and  they  make  up  for  motherliness  by  intelligence. 
Their  wisdom,  always  on  the  alert,  is  as  good  as  a mother’s 
intuition ; they  remember  the  exquisite  care  which  in  a 
mother  is  divination,  and  infuse  it  into  the  exercise  of  a 
pitifulness  whose  strength  is  great,  no  doubt,  in  proportion  to 
that  excessive  weakness.  The  slowness  of  their  movements 
supplies  the  place  of  maternal  gentleness.  And  then,  in 
them,  as  in  children,  life  is  reduced  to  the  simplest  expres- 
sion ; if  a mother  is  a slave  from  feeling,  the  negation  of  all 
passion  and  the  absence  of  all  self-interest  allow  the  old  man 
to  sacrifice  himself  wholly.  Hence  it  is  not  uncommon  to  see 
children  and  old  men  make  great  friends. 

The  old  officer,  the  old  cure,  and  the  old  doctor,  happy  in 
Ursule’s  caresses  and  caprices,  were  never  tired  of  answering 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


55 


her  or  playing  with  her.  Her  childish  petulance,  far  from 
fretting  them,  was  their  delight ; and  they  indulged  all  her 
desires,  while  making  everything  a subject  of  instruction. 
Thus  the  little  girl  grew  up  in  the  midst  of  old  men,  who 
smiled  on  her,  and  were  to  her  like  so  many  mothers,  all 
equally  attentive  and  watchful.  Thanks  to  this  learned  educa- 
tion, Ursule’s  soul  developed  in  a congenial  sphere.  This 
rare  plant  found  the  soil  that  suited  it,  inhaled  the  elements  of 
its  true  life,  and  assimilated  the  flood  of  its  native  sunshine. 

“In  what  faith  will  you  bring  this  child  up?”  asked  the 
Abbe  Chaperon  of  Minoret,  when  Ursule  was  six  years  old. 

“ In  yours,”  replied  the  doctor. 

He,  an  atheist  after  the  pattern  of  Monsieur  de  Wolmar  in 
the  “ Nouvelle  Heloise,”  did  not  see  that  he  had  any  right  to 
deprive  Ursule  of  the  benefits  offered  by  the  Catholic  faith. 

The  physician,  just  then  sitting  on  a bench  outside  the 
window  of  the  Chinese  summer-house,  felt  his  hand  warmly 
pressed  by  that  of  the  cure. 

“Yes,  cure,  whenever  she  asks  me  about  God,  I shall  refer 
her  to  her  friend  1 Sapron/  ” said  he,  mimicking  Ursule’s  baby 
accent.  “ I wish  to  see  whether  religious  feeling  is  innate. 
So  far,  therefore,  I have  done  nothing  either  for  or  against 
the  tendencies  of  this  young  soul ; but  I have  already,  in  my 
heart,  appointed  you  her  spiritual  director.” 

“ It  will  be  accounted  to  you  by  God,  I trust  ! ” said  the 
cure,  gently  patting  his  hands  together,  and  raising  them  to 
heaven,  as  though  he  were  putting  up  a short  mental  prayer. 

So,  at  the  age  of  six,  the  little  orphan  came  under  the 
religious  influence  of  the  cure,  as  she  had  already  under  that 
of  her  old  friend  Jordy. 

The  captain,  formerly  a professor  in  one  of  the  old  military 
schools,  and  interested  in  grammar  and  the  divergencies  of 
European  tongues,  had  studied  the  problem  of  an  universal 
language.  This  learned  man,  patient  as  all  old  teachers  are, 
made  it  his  pleasure  to  teach  Ursule  to  read  and  write,  in- 


56 


UR  SUL  E MIROUET. 


structing  her  in  French,  and  in  so  much  arithmetic  as  it  was 
needful  that  she  should  know.  The  doctor’s  extensive  library- 
allowed  of  a choice  of  books  fit  to  be  read  by  a child,  and 
adapted  to  amuse  as  well  as  to  instruct  her.  The  soldier  and 
the  priest  left  her  mind  to  develop  naturally  and  easily,  as  the 
doctor  left  her  body.  Ursule  learned  in  play.  Religion  in- 
cluded reflection. 

Thus  left  to  the  divine  culture  of  a nature  guided  by  these 
three  judicious  teachers  into  a realm  of  purity,  Ursule  tended 
towards  feeling  rather  than  duty,  and  took  as  her  rule  of  life 
the  voice  of  conscience  rather  than  social  law.  In  her,  beauty 
of  sentiment  and  action  would  always  be  spontaneous ; her 
judgment  would  come  in  to  confirm  the  impulse  of  her  heart. 
She  was  fated  to  do  right  as  a pleasure  before  doing  it  as  an 
obligation.  This  tone  is  the  peculiar  result  of  a Christian 
education.  These  principles,  quite  unlike  those  to  be  incul- 
cated in  a man,  are  suited  to  a woman,  the  soul  and  conscience 
of  the  family,  the  latent  elegance  of  home  life,  the  queen,  or 
little  less,  of  the  household. 

They  all  three  acted  in  the  same  manner  with  this  child. 
Far  from  being  startled  by  the  audacity  of  childish  innocence, 
they  explained  to  Ursule  the  purpose  of  things  and  their 
known  processes,  without  ever  giving  her  an  inaccurate  impres- 
sion. When  in  her  questioning  about  a plant,  a flower,  or  a 
star,  she  went  directly  to  God,  the  professor  and  the  doctor 
alike  told  her  that  only  the  cure  could  answer  her.  Neither 
of  them  intruded  on  the  ground  of  the  other.  Her  godfather 
took  charge  of  her  physical  progress  and  the  matters  of  daily 
life ; her  lessons  were  Jordy’s  affair ; morality,  metaphysics, 
and  all  higher  matters  were  left  to  the  cure. 

This  excellent  education  was  not  counteracted  by  bad  ser- 
vants, as  is  sometimes  the  case  in  wealthier  houses.  La  Bou- 
gival,  well  lectured  on  the  subject  — and,  indeed,  far  too 
simple  in  mind  and  nature  to  interfere — did  nothing  to  mar 
the  work  of  these  great  spirits. 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


57 


Thus  Ursule,  a privileged  creature,  had  to  nurture  her  three 
good  genii,  who  found  their  task  easy  and  pleasant  with  so 
sweet  a nature  as  hers.  This  manly  tenderness,  this  serious- 
ness tempered  by  smiles,  this  freedom  without  risk,  this  in- 
cessant care  of  mind  and  body,  had  made  her,  at  the  age  of 
nine,  a delightful  and  lovely  child.  Then,  unfortunately,  the 
fatherly  trio  was  broken  up.  In  the  following  year  the  old 
captain  died,  leaving  it  to  the  doctor  and  the  cure  to  carry 
on  his  work,  after  he  had  achieved  the  most  difficult  part  of 
it.  Flowers  would  spring  up  naturally  in  a soil  so  well  pre- 
pared. The  good  gentleman  had,  during  these  nine  years, 
saved  a thousand  francs  a year,  and  left  ten  thousand  francs 
to  his  little  Ursule,  that  she  might  have  something  to  remem- 
ber him  by  all  her  life  through.  In  his  will,  full  of  pathetic 
feeling,  he  begged  his  legatee  to  spend  the  four  or  five  hun- 
dred francs  a year  of  interest  on  this  little  capital  exclusively 
on  dress. 

When  the  justice  placed  seals  on  his  old  friend’s  possessions, 
he  found,  in  a closet  which  no  one  had  ever  been  allowed  to 
enter,  a quantity  of  toys,  most  of  them  broken,  and  all  used ; 
toys  of  the  past,  piously  treasured,  which  Monsieur  Bongrand 
himself  was  to  burn,  by  the  poor  captain’s  desire. 

Not  long  after  this,  Ursule  was  to  take  her  first  communion. 
The  Abbe  Chaperon  devoted  a whole  year  to  instructing  the 
young  girl,  in  whom  heart  and  brain,  so  early  developed,  but 
so  wisely  dependent  on  each  other,  required  a specific  spiritual 
nourishment.  And  this  initiation  into  a knowledge  of  divine 
things  was  of  such  a nature  that  from  this  period,  when  the 
soul  takes  its  religious  mould,  Ursule  became  a pious  and 
mystical  young  creature,  whose  character  was  always  superior 
to  events,  and  whose  heart  could  triumph  over  adversity. 
Then  it  was  that  a secret  struggle  began  between  infidel  old 
age  and  fully-believing  youth  ; a struggle  of  which  she  who 
had  challenged  it  was  long  unaware,  but  of  which  the  issue 
had  set  the  town  by  the  ears>  while  it  was*destined  to  have 


58 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


great  influence  on  Ursule’s  future  life,  by  unchaining  against 
her  the  doctor’s  collateral  relations. 

During  the  first  six  months  of  the  year  1824,  Ursule  almost 
always  spent  the  morning  at  the  cure’s  house.  The  old  doctor 
divined  the  abbe’s  intention ; he  wanted  to  make  Ursule 
herself  an  invincible  argument.  The  unbeliever,  beloved  by 
his  god-daughter  as  though  she  were  his  own  child,  would 
believe  in  her  simplicity,  and  be  attracted  by  the  touching 
effects  of  religion  in  the  soul  of  a girl  whose  love,  like  the 
trees  of  the  tropical  forest,  was  always  loaded  with  flowers 
and  fruit,  always  fresh,  and  always  fragrant.  A beautiful  life 
is  more  powerful  than  the  most  cogent  arguments.  It  is 
impossible  to  resist  the  charm  of  certain  images.  And 
the  doctor’s  eyes  filled  with  tears,  he  knew  not  why,  when  he 
saw  the  child  of  his  heart  set  out  for  church  dressed  in  a 
frock  of  white  gauze,  with  white  satin  shoes,  graced  with 
white  ribbons,  a fillet  of  white  round  her  head  tied  on  one 
side  with  a large  bow,  her  hair  rippling  in  a thousand 
waves  over  her  pretty  white  shoulders,  her  bodice  trimmed 
with  a pleating  mixed  with  narrow  bows,  her  eyes  shining 
like  stars,  from  new  hopes,  loving  her  godfather  all  the 
more  since  her  soul  had  risen  to  God.  When  he  perceived 
the  idea  of  eternity  supplying  nourishment  to  the  soul 
hitherto  wrapped  in  the  darkness  of  childhood,  as  the  sun 
brings  life  to  the  world  after  the  night  is  past,  he  felt 
vexed  to  remain  alone  at  home,  still  without  knowing  why. 
Seated  on  the  balcony  steps,  his  eyes  remained  long  fixed  on 
the  bars  of  the  gate  through  which  his  godchild  had  passed, 
saying,  “ Why  are  you  not  coming  too,  godfather?  Am  I 
to  be  happy  without  you  ? ” 

Though  shaken  to  the  foundations,  the  encyclopedist’s 
pride  did  not  once  give  way.  However,  he  went  out  to 
look  at  the  little  procession,  and  saw  his  little  Ursule 
radiant  with  exaltation  under  her  veil.  She  flashed  an 
inspired  look  at  him,  which  struck  to  the  stoniest  corner 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


59 


of  his  heart,  the  spot  closed  against  God.  Still  the  deist 
was  firm.  “ Mummery  ! ” he  said  to  himself.  “ To  imagine 
that  if  a Maker  of  worlds  exists,  such  an  Organizer  of 
infinitude  can  trouble  Himself  about  this  foolish  trumpery  !” 

He  laughed,  and  pursued  his  walk  along  the  heights 
which  overhang  the  road  through  the  Gatinais,  where  the 
church  bells,  ringing  loud  peals,  announced  the  gladness  of 
many  a home. 

The  clatter  of  backgammon  is  intolerable  to  those  who 
do  not  know  the  game,  one  of  the  most  difficult  that  exist. 
Not  to  disturb  his  little  girl — whose  extreme  delicacy  of  ear 
and  nerves  aid  not  allow  of  her  enduring  this  rattle  and  their 
talk  without  apparent  meaning — the  cure,  old  Jordy  during 
his  lifetime,  and  Dr.  Minoret  postponed  their  game  till  the 
child  was  in  bed  or  out  walking.  It  often  happened  that  it 
was  unfinished  when  she  came  in  again,  and  she  then  sub- 
mitted with  the  best  possible  grace,  and  sat  down  by  the 
window  to  sew.  She  disliked  the  game,  which  at  the  begin- 
ning is  no  doubt  dry  and  dull,  to  many  minds  repellent,  and 
so  difficult  to  master,  that  those  who  have  not  become  accus- 
tomed to  it  in  their  youth  find  it  almost  impossible  to  learn 
in  later  life. 

Now  on  the  evening  after  her  first  communion,  when 
Ursule  came  back  to  her  guardian  and  found  him  alone 
for  that  day,  she  set  the  backgammon  board  in  front  of 
the  old  man. 

“ Now  whose  throw  will  it  be  ? ” said  she. 

“Ursule,”  said  the  doctor,  “is  it  not  sinful  to  make 
game  of  your  godfather  on  the  very  day  of  your  first  com- 
munion ? ” 

“I  am  not  making  game,”  said  she,  seating  herself.  “I 
must  think  of  your  pleasure — you  who  are  always  thinking  of 
mine.  Whenever  Monsieur  Chaperon  was  pleased  with  me, 
he  gave  me  a lesson  in  backgammon,  and  he  has  given  me  so 
many  that  I am  prepared  to  beat  you.  You  will  not  have  to 

P 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


put  yourself  to  inconvenience  for  me.  I have  conquered 
every  difficulty,  not  to  interfere  with  your  amusement,  and  I 
really  like  the  rattle  of  the  dice.” 

Ursule  won  the  game.  The  cure  came  in,  taking  them  by 
surprise,  and  enjoyed  her  triumph. 

Next  day  Minoret,  who  had  hitherto  refused  to  allow  the 
girl  to  learn  music,  went  to  Paris,  bought  a piano,  and  made 
arrangements  with  a mistress  at  Fontainebleau,  submitting  to 
the  annoyance  which  Ursule’s  constant  practicing  could  not 
fail  to  cause  him.  One  of  his  lost  friend  Jordy’s  phrenolog- 
ical prognostics  proved  true — the  girl  became  an  excellent 
musician.  The  doctor,  proud  of  his  god-daughter,  now  got 
an  old  German  named  Schmucke,  a learned  professor  of  music, 
to  come  from  Paris  once  a week,  and  paid  the  cost  of  an  art 
which  he  had  at  first  contemned  as  perfectly  useless  in  home 
life.  Unbelievers  do  not  love  music,  that  heavenly  language 
worked  out  by  Catholicism,  which  found  the  names  of  the 
seven  notes  in  one  of  its  hymns.  Each  note  is  called  by  the 
first  syllable  of  the  seven  first  lines  of  the  hymn  to  St.  John. 

The  impression  produced  on  the  old  man  by  Ursule’s  first 
communion,  though  vivid,  was  transient.  The  calm  content- 
ment which  acts  of  resolution  and  prayer  diffused  in  her 
young  soul  were  also  examples  of  which  he  took  no  account. 
Minoret,  having  no  subjects  for  remorse  or  repentance, 
enjoyed  perfect  serenity  of  mind.  Doing  all  his  acts  of  benev- 
olence without  any  hope  of  an  eternal  harvest,  he  thought 
himself  superior  to  the  Catholic,  who,  as  he  always  said,  was 
merely  making  a profitable  bargain  with  God. 

“And  yet,”  the  Abb6  Chaperon  would  say,  “if  all  men 
went  in  for  this  business,  you  must  admit  that  society  might 
be  perfect.  There  would  be  no  more  misery.  To  be  benev- 
olent on  your  lines,  a man  must  be  a great  philosopher.  You 
raise  yourself  to  your  principles  by  reason — you  are  a social 
exception  ; now  you  need  only  be  a Christian  to  be  benevo- 
lent on  ours.  With  you  it  is  an  effort ; with  us  it  is  natural/' 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


61 


“ Which  is  as  much  as  to  say,  cure,  that  I think  and  you 
feel.  That  is  all.” 

Meanwhile,  having  reached  the  age  of  twelve,  Ursule, 
whose  womanly  tact  and  shrewdness  were  brought  into  play 
by  a superior  education,  and  whose  sense,  now  in  its  blossom, 
was  enlightened  by  a religious  spirit,  fully  understood  that  her 
godfather  believed  not  in  a future  life,  nor  in  the  immortality 
of  the  soul,  nor  in  Providence,  nor  in  God.  The  doctor, 
pressed  by  her  innocent  questioning,  found  it  impossible  any 
longer  to  hide  the  terrible  secret.  Ursule’ s naive  consterna- 
tion at  first  made  him  smile ; but  then,  seeing  that  she  was 
sometimes  sad,  he  understood  how  great  an  affection  this 
dejection  revealed.  Unqualified  love  has  a horror  of  every 
kind  of  discord,  even  in  things  which  have  no  connection 
with  itself.  The  old  man  would  sometimes  lend  himself,  as  to 
a caress,  to  the  arguments  of  his  adopted  child,  spoken  in  a 
gentle  and  tender  voice,  and  the  outcome  of  the  most  pure 
and  ardent  feeling.  But  believers  and  unbelievers  speak  two 
different  languages,  and  cannot  understand  each  other.  The 
young  girl  in  pleading  the  cause  of  God  was  hard  upon  her 
godfather,  as  a spoilt  child  is  sometimes  hard  upon  its 
mother. 

The  cure  gently  reproved  her,  telling  her  that  God  reserved 
to  Himself  the  power  of  humbling  such  proud  spirits.  The 
young  girl  answered  the  abbe  by  saying  that  David  slew 
Goliath.  These  religious  differences,  these  sorrows  of  the 
child  who  longed  to  lead  her  guardian  to  God,  were  the  only 
griefs  of  their  home-life,  so  simple  and  so  full,  and  hidden 
from  the  gaze  of  the  inquisitive  little  town. 

Ursule  grew  up  and  developed  into  the  modest,  Christianly 
trained  maiden  whom  Desire  had  admired  as  she  came  out  of 
church.  The  culture  of  the  flowers  in  the  garden,  music, 
amusing  her  guardian  and  all  the  attentions  she  paid  him — 
for  Ursule  had  relieved  La  Bougival  by  taking  care  of  the  old 
man — all  filled  up  the  hours,  days,  and  months  of  this  tranquil 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


$2 

existence.  For  a year  past,  indeed,  some  little  ailments  of 
Ursule’s  had  made  the  doctor  anxious;  but  they  did  not 
disturb  him  beyond  making  him  watchful  of  her  health. 
Meanwhile,  however,  the  sagacious  observer  and  experienced 
practitioner  fancied  he  could  discern  that  to  her  physical 
disorders  there  was  some  corresponding  disturbance  in  her 
mind.  He  watched  her  with  a mother’s  eye,  but,  seeing  no 
one  in  their  circle  worthy  to  inspire  her  with  love,  he  made 
himself  easy. 

Under  these  circumstances,  just  a month  before  the  day 
when  this  drama  had  its  beginning,  an  event  occurred  in  the 
doctor’s  intellectual  life — one  of  those  incidents  which  plough 
into  the  subsoil,  so  to  speak,  of  our  convictions,  and  turn  up 
its  very  depths.  But  it  will  first  be  necessary  to  give  a brief 
account  of  some  facts  of  his  medical  career,  which  will  also 
lend  fresh  interest  to  this  narrative. 

At  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century  science  was  as  deeply 
rent  by  the  apparition  of  Mesmer  as  art  was  by  that  of  Gluck. 
After  his  rediscovery  of  magnetism,  Mesmer  came  to  France, 
whither  from  time  immemorial  inventors  have  resorted  to 
find  protection  for  their  discoveries.  France,  thanks  to  the 
lucidity  of  her  language,  is  as  it  were  the  trumpeter  of  the 
world. 

“If  homoeopathy  gets  to  Paris,  it  is  safe  ! ” said  Hahne- 
mann. 

“Go  to  France,”  said  Metternich  to  Gall,  “and  if  they 
laugh  at  your  4 bumps,’  you  are  a made  man.” 

Mesmer,  then,  had  his  disciples  and  his  antagonists,  as 
ardent  as  the  Piccinists  against  the  Gluckists.  Scientific 
France  was  stirred,  and  a serious  debate  was  set  on  foot. 
Until  judgment  should  be  pronounced,  the  faculty  of  medi- 
cine, in  a body,  proscribed  what  they  called  Mesmer’s  quack- 
ery, his  tub,  his  conducting  wires,  and  his  theories.  But  it 
must  be  said  that  the  German  compromised  his  splendid  dis- 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


63 


covery  by  preposterous  pecuniary  demands.  Mesmer  failed 
through  unproven  facts,  through  his  ignorance  of  the  part 
played  in  nature  by  imponderable  fluids  not  as  yet  investi- 
gated, and  through  his  inability  to  study  all  sides  of  a science 
which  has  three  aspects.  Magnetism  has  more  applications ; 
in  Mesmer’s  hands  it  was  in  relation  to  its  future  develop- 
ment what  a principle  is  to  results.  But  though  the  discoverer 
lacked  genius,  it  is  sad  for  human  reason  and  for  France  to 
have  to  own  that  a science  contemporaneous  with  the  earliest 
civilization,  cultivated  in  Egypt  and  Chaldea,  in  Greece  and 
in  India,  met  in  Paris  at  the  high-tide  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury with  the  same  fate  as  the  truth  embodied  in  Galileo  in 
the  sixteenth ; and  that  magnetism  was  put  out  of  court  by 
the  twofold  attainder  of  religious  believers  and  of  materi- 
alist philosophers,  both  equally  alarmed.  Magnetism,  the 
favorite  science  of  Jesus,  and  one  of  the  powers  conferred  on 
the  apostles,  seems  to  have  been  as  little  recognized  by  the 
church  as  by  the  followers  of  Jean-Jacques  and  Voltaire,  of 
Locke  and  Condillac.  Neither  the  encyclopedia  nor  the 
priesthood  could  come  to  terms  with  this  ancient  human  force 
which  seemed  to  them  so  novel.  The  miracles  of  the  convul- 
sionnaii'cs  were  smothered  by  the  church  and  by  the  indiffer- 
ence of  the  learned,  in  spite  of  the  valuable  works  of  Carre  de 
Montgeron ; still,  they  were  the  first  summons  to  make  ex- 
periments on  the  fluids  in  the  human  body  which  supply  the 
power  of  calling  up  enough  spontaneous  forces  to  nullify  the 
pain  caused  by  an  external  agency.  But  it  would  have  neces- 
sitated the  recognition  of  fluids  that  are  intangible,  invisible, 
and  imponderable,  the  three  negations  which  science  at  that 
time  regarded  as  the  definition  of  a vacuum. 

To  modern  science  a vacuum  is  impossible.  Given  ten  feet 
of  vacuum,  and  the  world  is  in  ruins  ! To  materialists  espe- 
cially the  world  is  absolutely  full,  everything  is  closely  linked 
and  connected,  and  acts  mechanically. 

“ The  world,’ * said  Diderot,  “as  a result  of  mere  change 


64 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


is  more  intelligible  than  God.  The  multiplicity  of  causes, 
and  the  immeasurable  number  of  throws  that  chance  presup- 
poses, sufficiently  account  for  creation.  Given  the  ‘ .Tuieid  * 
and  all  the  letters  necessary  to  set  it  up,  if  you  grant  me  time 
and  space,  by  dint  of  tossing  the  letters,  I should  bring  out 
the  combination  forming  the  <yEneid.,,>  These  wretched 
men,  who  would  deify  everything  rather  than  confess  a God, 
shrank  no  less  from  the  infinite  divisibility  of  matter  which  is 
implied  in  the  nature  of  an  imponderable  force.  Locke  and 
Condillac  at  that  time  delayed  by  fifty  years  the  immense 
advance  which  natural  science  is  now  making  under  the  con- 
ception of  unity  which  we  owe  to  the  great  Geoffroy  Saint- 
Hilaire. 

Some  honest  minds,  devoid  of  system,  convinced  by  the 
facts  they  had  conscientiously  studied,  persisted  in  holding 
the  doctrine  of  Mesmer,  who  discerned  the  existence  in  man 
of  a penetrating  influence,  giving  one  individual  power  over 
another,  and  brought  into  play  by  the  will ; an  influence 
which  is  curative  when  the  fluid  is  abundant,  and  which  acts 
as  a duel  between  two  wills — the  evil  to  be  cured  and  the 
will  to  cure  it.  The  phenomena  of  somnambulism,  hardly 
suspected  by  Mesmer,  were  detected  by  MM.  de  Puysegur 
and  Deleuze ; but  the  Revolution  brought  a pause  in  these 
discoveries,  which  left  the  men  of  learning  and  the  scoffers  in 
possession  of  the  field. 

Among  the  small  number  of  believers  were  some  physi- 
cians ; these  seceders  were  persecuted  by  their  brethren  till 
the  day  of  their  death.  The  respectable  faculty  of  doctors  in 
Paris  turned  against  the  Mesmerists  with  all  the  rigor  of  a 
religious  warfare,  and  were  as  cruel  in  their  hatred  as  it  was 
possible  to  be  in  a period  of  Voltairean  tolerance.  The 
orthodox  physicians  refused  to  meet  in  consultation  with  those 
who  adhered  to  the  Mesmerian  heresy.  In  1820,  these  re- 
puted heresiarchs  were  still  the  object  of  this  unformulated 
proscription.  The  disasters  and  storms  of  the  Revolution  did 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


65 


not  extinguish  this  scientific  hostility.  None  but  priests, 
lawyers,  and  physicians  can  hate  in  this  way.  The  “ gown  ” 
is  always  terrible.  But  are  not  ideas  certain  to  be  more 
implacable  than  ‘things?  Doctor  Bouvard,  a friend  of  Min- 
oret,  accepted  the  new  creed,  and  to  his  dying  day  persisted 
in  the  scientific  faith  to  which  he  sacrificed  the  peace  of  his 
whole  life — for  he  was  the  pet  aversion  of  the  Paris  faculty. 
Minoret,  one  of  the  bravest  supporters  of  the  encyclopedists, 
and  the  most  redoubtable  adversary  of  Deslon,  Mesmer’s 
chief  disciple,  since  his  pen  had  great  weight  in  this  dispute, 
quarreled  beyond  remedy  with  his  old  comrade ; he  did 
worse,  he  persecuted  him.  His  behavior  to  Bouvard  must 
have  caused  him  the  only  repentance  that  can  have  clouded 
the  serenity  of  his  declining  life. 

Since  Doctor  Minoret’s  retirement  to  Nemours,  the  science 
of  imponderable  agents — the  only  name  applicable  to  magnet- 
ism of  which  the  phenomena  ally  it  so  closely  with  electric- 
ity and  light — had  made  immense  progress,  in  spite  of  the 
unfailing  mockery  of  the  Paris  world  of  science.  Phrenology 
and  physiognomy,  the  sciences  of  Gall  and  Lavater,  twins,  of 
which  one  is  to  the  other  as  cause  to  effect,  demonstrated  to 
the  eyes  of  more  than  one  physiologist  certain  traces  of  the 
intangible  fluid  which  is  the  basis  of  the  phenomena  of  human 
will,  giving  rise  to  passions  and  habits,  to  the  forms  of  the 
features  and  of  the  skull.  Magnetic  facts  too,  the  miracles  of 
somnambulism,  and  those  of  divination  and  ecstasy,  allowing 
us  to  enter  into  the  world  of  spirit,  were  multiplying.  The 
strange  tale  of  the  apparitions  seen  by  Martin,  a farmer, 
which  were  amply  proved,  and  that  peasant’s  interview  with 
Louis  XVIII.;  the  statements  as  to  Swedenborg’s  intercourse 
with  the  dead,  seriously  accepted  in  Germany  ; Walter  Scott’s 
narratives. of  the  results  of  second-sight;  the  amazing  facul- 
ties displayed  by  some  fortune-tellers,  who  combined  into  one 
science  chiromancy,  card-reading,  and  horoscopy ; the  facts 
of  catalepsy,  and  of  the  peculiar  action  of  the  diaphragm 
5 


66 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


under  certain  morbid  influences ; all  these  phenomena,  curi- 
ous, to  say  the  least,  and  all  emanating  from  the  same  source, 
undermined  much  doubt,  and  led  the  most  indifferent  into  the 
province  of  experiment.  Minoret  knew -nothing  of  this 
movement  of  mind,  vast  in  Northern  Europe,  though  still 
small  in  France,  where,  nevertheless,  certain  facts  occurred 
which  superficial  observers  called  marvelous,  but  which  fell 
like  stones  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea  in  the  whirlpool  of  events 
in  Paris. 

At  the  beginning  of  this  year  the  anti-mesmerist  was  greatly 
disturbed  by  receiving  the  following  letter : 

“ My  old  Comrade  : — Every  friendship,  even  a lost  friend- 
ship, has  rights  which  it  is  not  easy  to  set  aside.  I know  that 
you  are  still  alive,  and  I remember  less  of  our  hostilities  than 
of  our  happy  days  in  the  little  dens  of  Saint-Julien-le-pauvre. 
Now  that  I am  about  to  quit  this  world,  I cling  to  a hope  of 
proving  to  you  that  magnetism  is  destined  to  be  one  of  the 
most  important  of  sciences — unless,  indeed  all  science  should 
not  be  regarded  as  one.  I can  wreck  your  incredulity  by  posi- 
tive proofs.  Perhaps  I may  gain  from  your  curiosity  the 
happiness  of  once  more  clasping  your  hand  as  we  used  to 
clasp  hands  before  the  days  of  Mesmer.  Always  yours, 

“ Bouvard.” 

The  anti-mesmerist,  stung  as  a lion  by  a gadfly,  rushed  off 
to  Paris  and  left  his  card  on  old  Bouvard,  who  lived  in  the 
Rue  Ferou,  near  Saint  Sulpice.  Bouvard  sent  a card  to  his 
hotel,  writing  on  it,  “ To-morrow  at  nine  o’clock,  Rue  St 
Honore,  opposite  the  Church  of  the  Assumption.” 

Minoret,  grown  young  again,  did  not  sleep.  He  went  to 
call  on  the  old  physicians  of  his  acquaintance,  and  asked 
them  if  the  world  were  turned  upside  down,  if  there  were 
still  a school  of  medicine,  and  if  the  four  faculties  still  existed. 
The  doctors  reassured  him  by  telling  him  that  the  old  spirit 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


67 


of  resistance  still  survived ; only,  instead  of  persecuting  the 
new  science,  the  academies  of  medicine  and  of  sciences 
roared  with  laughter,  and  classed  magnetic  demonstrations 
with  the  tricks  of  Comus,  Comte,  and  Bosco,  as  jugglery, 
sleight-of-hand,  and  what  is  known  as  amusing  physics. 

These  speeches  did  not  hinder  Minoret  from  going  to  the 
rendezvous  appointed  by  old  Bouvard.  After  forty-four  years 
of  alienation  the  antagonists  met  again  under  a courtyard 
gate  in  the  Rue  St.  Honore. 

Frenchmen  live  in  too  constant  a change  to  hate  each  other 
very  long.  In  Paris,  especially,  events  expand  space  and 
make  life  so  wide— in  politics,  in  science,  and  in  literature — 
that  men  cannot  fail  to  find  countries  in  it  to  conquer  where 
their  demands  find  room  to  dwell  and  rule.  Hatred  requires 
so  many  forces  always  in  arms  that  those  who  mean  to  hate 
persistently  begin  with  a good  supply.  And  then,  only  bodies 
of  men  can  bear  it  in  mind.  At  the  end  of  forty-four  years 
Robespierre  and  Danton  would  fall  on  each  other’s  neck. 

Neither  of  the  two  doctors,  however,  offered  to  shake 
hands.  Bouvard  was  the  first  to  say  to  Minoret  (with  the 
familiar  tu  of  French  good-fellowship) — 

“ You  are  looking  very  well.” 

“Yes,  not  so  badly;  and  you?”  said  Minoret,  the  ice 
being  broken. 

“ I — as  you  see  me.” 

“ Has  magnetism  kept  you  from  dying?  ” asked  Minoret  in 
a bantering  tone,  but  not  bitterly. 

“ No  ; but  it  has  almost  kept  me  from  living.” 

“You  are  not  rich  then  ? ” said  Minoret. 

“ Rich  ? ” said  Bouvard. 

“ Well,  but  I am  rich  ! ” cried  Minoret. 

“ It  is  not  your  fortune,  but  your  conviction,  that  I aim  at. 
Come,”  replied  Bouvard. 

“ Obstinate  fellow  ! ” exclaimed  Minoret. 

The  believer  in  Mesmer  led  his  incredulous  friend  into  a 


68  UR  SUL E MIR  OUt  T. 

dark  stairway,  and  made  him  mount  cautiously  to  the  fourth 
floor. 

At  this  time  there  was  in  Paris  an  extraordinary  man  en- 
dowed by  faith  with  stupendous  powers,  and  a master  of  mag- 
netic forces  in  every  form  of  their  application.  Not  only 
did  this  great  unknown,  who  is  still  living,  cure  unaided,  and 

at  any  distance,  the  most  painful  and  inveterate  diseases cure 

them  suddenly  and  radically,  as  of  old  did  the  Redeemer  of 
man — but  he  also  could  produce  at  any  moment  the  most 
curious  phenomena  of  somnambulism  by  quelling  the  most 
refractory  wills.  The  countenance  of  the  unknown,  who,  like 
Swedenborg,  declares  himself  to  be  commissioned  by  God 
and  in  communion  with  the  angels,  is  that  of  a lion ; it  is 
radiant  with  concentrated  and  irresistible  energy.  His  feat- 
ures, of  a singular  cast,  have  a terrible  and  overwhelming 
power ; his  voice,  coming  from  the  depths  of  his  being,  seems 
charged  with  magnetic  fluid,  and  enters  the  listener  by  every 
pore. 

Disgusted  with  the  ingratitude  of  the  public  after  thousands 
of  cures,  he  had  thrown  himself  into  unapproachable  solitude, 
voluntary  annihilation.  His  all-powerful  hand,  which  has 
restored  dying  daughters  to  their  mothers,  fathers  to  their 
weeping  children,  adored  mistresses  to  lovers  crazed  with 
love ; which  has  cured  the  sick  when  physicians  have  given 
them  over,  and  caused  thanksgivings  to  be  sung  in  the  syna- 
gogue, in  the  conventicle,  and  in  the  church  by  priests  of 
different  creeds,  all  brought  to  the  same  God  by  the  same 
miracle ; which  has  mitigated  the  agony  of  death  to  those  for 
whom  life  was  no  longer  possible — that  sovereign  hand,  the 
sun  of  life  which  dazzled  the  closed  eyes  of  the  sleep-walker, 
he  now  would  not  lift  to  restore  the  heir  of  a kingdom  to  a 
queen.  Wrapped  in  the  memory  of  the  good  he  has  done  as 
in  a luminous  shroud  he  has  shut  his  door  on  the  world,  and 
dwells  in  the  skies. 

But,  in  the  early  days  of  his  reign,  almost  startled  by  his 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


69 


own  powers,  this  man,  whose  disinterestedness  was  as  great  as 
his  influence,  allowed  a few  inquirers  to  witness  his  miracles. 
The  rumor  of  his  fame,  which  had  been  immense,  and  which 
might  revive  any  day,  aroused  Doctor  Bouvard  on  the  brink 
of  the  tomb.  The  persecuted  believer  in  Mesmer  could  at  last 
behold  the  most  brilliant  manifestation  of  the  science  he 
cherished,  like  a treasure,  in  his  heart.  The  old  man’s  mis- 
fortunes had  touched  the  great  unknown,  who  granted  him 
certain  privileges.  So  Bouvard,  as  they  climbed  the  stairs, 
took  his  old  adversary’s  banter  with  malicious  satisfaction. 
He  made  no  reply  but,  “ You  will  see,  you  will  see,”  with 
the  little  tosses  of  the  head  that  mark  a man  sure  of  his  case. 

The  two  doctors  entered  a suite  of  rooms  of  the  plainest 
simplicity.  Bouvard  went  to  speak  with  the  master  for  a 
moment  in  a bedroom  adjoining  the  drawing-room,  where  he 
left  Minoret,  whose  distrust  was  now  aroused.  But  Bouvard 
immediately  came  back,  and  led  him  into  the  bedroom,  where 
he  found  the  famous  Swedenborgian  with  a woman  seated  in 
an  armchair.  The  woman  did  not  rise,  and  seemed  not  to 
observe  the  arrival  of  the  two  old  men. 

“What,  no  tub?”  said  Minoret,  with  a smile. 

“Nothing  but  the  power  of  God,”  gravely  replied  the 
Swedenborgian,  whom  Minoret  supposed  to  be  a man  of  about 
fifty. 

The  three  men  sat  down,  and  the  stranger  made  conversa- 
tion. They  spoke  of  the  weather  and  indifferent  matters,  to 
old  Minoret’s  great  surprise ; he  fancied  he  was  being  fooled. 
The  Swedenborgian  questioned  his  visitor  as  to  his  scientific 
views,  and  was  evidently  taking  time  to  study  him. 

“You  have  come  here  out  of  pure  curiosity,  monsieur,”  he 
said  at  length.  “I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  prostituting  a 
power  which,  it  is  my  full  conviction,  emanates  from  God ; 
if  I made  a frivolous  or  evil  use  of  it,  it  might  be  taken  from 
me.  However,  Monsieur  Bouvard  tells  me  our  aim  is  to  be 
the  conversion  of  an  opinion  antagonistic  to  ours,  and  the 


70 


UR  SUL  E MIROUET. 


enlightenment  of  a man  of  learning  and  good  faith.  I shall 
therefore  satisfy  you.  The  woman,  you  see  there,”  he  went 
on,  pointing  to  the  armchair,  “ is  in  a magnetic  sleep.  From 
the  accounts  and  revelations  of  all  such  somnambulists,  the 
state  is  one  of  great  beatitude,  during  which  the  inner  being, 
set  free  from  the  fetters  by  which  visible  nature  hinders  the 
full  exercise  of  its  faculties,  wanders  through  the  world  which 
we  erroneously  call  invisible.  Sight  and  hearing  are  then  far 
more  perfectly  active  than  in  the  state  which  we  call  being 
awake,  and  independent,  perhaps,  of  the  medium  of  those 
organs  which  are  but  as  a sheath  to  the  blades  of  light  that 
we  call  sight  and  hearing.  To  a man  in  that  condition  dis- 
tance and  material  obstacles  have  ceased  to  exist,  or  are 
pierced  through  by  an  internal  vitality  of  which  our  body  is 
the  container,  the  necessary  fulcrum,  a mere  wrapper.  Terms 
are  lacking  for  results  so  recently  rediscovered  ; for  the  words 
imponderable,  intangible,  invisible  have  no  meaning  in  rela- 
tion to  the  fluid  whose  action  is  perceptible  through  magnet- 
ism. Light  is  ponderable  by  heat,  which,  when  it  penetrates 
a body,  increases  its  volume  ; and  electricity  is  only  too  tangi- 
ble. We  have  passed  judgment  on  things  instead  of  blaming 
the  imperfection  of  our  instruments.” 

“ She  is  asleep?”  asked  Minoret,  examining  the  woman, 
who  seemed  to  him  of  the  lower  class. 

“ Her  body  is  in  a certain  sense  annihilated,”  replied  the 
Swedenborgian.  “ Ignorant  persons  mistake  this  state  for 
sleep.  But  she  will  prove  to  you  that  there  is  a spiritual 
world,  where  the  spirit  does  not  obey  the  laws  of  the  physical 
universe.  I will  send  her  to  any  region  whither  you  may 
choose  that  she  shall  go,  twenty  leagues  away,  or  as  far  as 
China;  she  will  tell  you  what  is  happening  there.” 

“ Send  her  only  to  my  house  at  Nemours,”  replied  Minoret. 

“I  will  not  interfere  between  you,”  said  the  mysterious 
man.  “ Give  me  your  hand  ; you  shall  be  at  once  actor  and 
spectator,  cause  and  effect.” 


HE  TOOK  MlNORET’S  hand — AND  with  his  other  hand 
HE  TOOK  THAT  OF  THE  WOMAN  IN  THE  CHAIR. 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


71 


He  took  Minoret’s  hand,  Minoret  yielding ; he  held  it  for 
a minute  with  an  apparent  concentration  of  thought,  and  with 
his  other  hand  he  took  that  of  the  woman  in  the  chair ; then 
he  placed  the  doctor’s  hand  in  the  woman’s,  signing  to  the 
old  skeptic  to  sit  down  by  the  side  of  this  Pythoness  without 
a tripod.  Minoret  observed  a slight  thrill  in  the  excessively 
calm  face  of  the  woman  when  the  Swedenborgian  placed  them 
in  contact ; but  the  movement,  though  marvelous  in  its  re- 
sults, was  in  itself  extremely  simple. 

“Obey  this  gentleman,”  said  the  unknown,  extending  his 
hand  over  the  head  of  the  woman,  who  seemed  to  inhale  light 
and  life  from  him.  “ And  remember  that  all  you  do  for  him 
will  please  me.  Now,  you  can  speak  to  her,”  he  said  to 
Minoret. 

“Go  to  Nemours,  Rue  des  Bourgeois,  to  my  house,”  said 
the  doctor. 

“ Give  her  time;  hold  her  hand  till  she  shows  by  what  she 
says  that  she  is  there,”  said  Bouvard  to  his  old  friend. 

“ I see  a river,”  replied  the  woman  in  a low  voice,  and 
seeming  to  be  looking  attentively  within  herself,  in  spite  of 
her  closed  eyes.  “ I see  a pretty  garden.” 

“Why  have  you  begun  by  the  river  and  the  garden?” 
asked  Minoret. 

“ Because  they  are  in  the  garden.” 

“Who?” 

“The  young  lady  and  her  nurse,  of  whom  you  are  think- 
ing.” 

“What  is  the  garden  like?  ” asked  Minoret. 

“ As  you  go  into  it  by  the  steps  that  lead  to  the  river  there 
is  a long  gallery  to  the  right,  built  of  brick,  in  which  I see 
books,  and  at  the  end  there  is  a little  gazebo  trimmed  up  with 
wooden  bells  and  red  eggs.  The  wall  on  the  left  is  covered 
with  creepers — Virginia  creeper  and  yellow  jasmine.  There 
is  a little  sun-dial  in  the  middle ; there  are  a great  many  pots 
of  flowers.  Your  ward  is  looking  at  the  flowers  and  showing 


72 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


them  to  her  nurse ; she  makes  holes  with  a dibble  and  sows 
some  seeds.  The  nurse  is  raking  the  path.  Though  the  girl 
is  as  pure  as  an  angel,  there  is  a dawning  of  love  in  her,  as 
faint  as  the  first  light  of  morning.’ ’ 

“ For  whom?”  asked  the  doctor,  who  had  so  far  heard 
nothing  that  any  one  might  not  have  told  him- without  being 
a clairvoyant.  He  still  believed  it  was  a trick. 

4 ‘ You  know  nothing  of  it,  though  you  were  somewhat  anx- 
ious not  long  since  as  she  grew  up,”  said  the  woman,  smiling. 
“ The  instincts  of  her  heart  followed  the  development  of  her 
nature.” 

“ And  it  is  quite  a common  woman  who  speaks  thus?” 
exclaimed  the  old  doctor. 

“ In  this  state  they  all  speak  with  peculiar  lucidity,”  re- 
plied Bouvard. 

“ But  who  is  it  that  Ursule  loves?  ” 

“ Ursule  does  not  know  that  she  is  in  love,”  answered  the 
woman,  with  a little  shake  of  her  head.  “ She  is  too  angel- 
ically innocent  to  be  conscious  of  desire,  or  of  love  in  any 
kind ; but  she  wonders  over  him,  she  thinks  of  him ; she 
even  forbids  herself  to  do  so,  and  returns  in  spite  of  her 
determination  to  avoid  it.  Now  she  is  at  the  piano ” 

“ But  who  is  he  ?” 

“ The  son  of  the  lady  who  lives  opposite.” 

“ Madame  de  Portenduere?” 

“ Portenduere,  did  you  say?”  replied  the  clairvoyant. 
“ I daresay.  But  there  is  no  danger;  he  is  not  at  home?  ” 

“ Have  they  ever  spoken  to  each  other?  ” 

“ Never.  They  have  looked  at  each  other.  She  thinks 
him  charming.  And  he  really  is  very  good-looking,  and  he 
has  a good  heart.  She  has  watched  him  out  of  her  window, 
and  they  have  seen  each  other  at  church ; but  the  young  man 
thinks  no  more  about  it.” 

“ What  is  his  name?” 

“ I cannot  tell  you  unless  I should  read  it  or  hear  it 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


73 


His  name  is  Savinien ; she  has  just  spoken  it ; she  likes  the 
sound  of  it ; she  had  looked  in  the  calendar  for  his  saint’s 
day,  and  had  marked  it  with  a tiny  red  spot.  Childish  ! Oh, 
she  will  love  very  truly,  and  with  a love  as  pure  as  it  is  strong. 
She  is  not  the  girl  to  love  twice ; love  will  color  her  whole 
soul,  and  fill  it  so  completely,  that  she  will  reject  every  other 
feeling.” 

“ Where  do  you  see  that  ? ” 

“I  see  it  in  her.  She  will  know  how  to  bear  suffering ; 
she  has  inherited  that  power,  for  her  father  and  mother  suffered 
much.” 

The  last  words  overset  the  doctor,  who  was  surprised  rather 
than  shaken.  It  is  desirable  to  note  that  ten  or  fifteen  min- 
utes passed  between  each  of  the  woman’s  statements ; during 
these  her  attention  became  more  and  more  self-centred.  He 
could  see  that  . she  saw  ! Her  brow  showed  peculiar  changes  ; 
internal  effort  was  to  be  seen  there ; it  cleared  or  was  knit  by 
a power  whose  effects  Minoret  had  never  seen  but  in  dying 
people  at  the  moment  when  the  prophetic  spirit  is  upon  them. 
She  not  unfrequently  made  gestures  reminding  him  of  Ursule. 

“ Oh,  question  her,”  said  the  mysterious  master  to  Minoret. 
“ She  will  tell  you  secrets  that  none  but  yourself  can  know.” 

“ Does  Ursule  love  me  ? ” said  Minoret. 

“Almost  as  she  loves  God,”  replied  the  sleeper,  with  a 
smile.  “ And  she  is  very  unhappy  about  your  infidelity.  You 
do  not  believe  in  God,  as  if  you  could  hinder  His  being ! 
His  voice  fills  the  world  ! And  so  you  are  the  cause  of  the 
poor  child’s  only  distress.  There  ! she  is  playing  her  scales  ; 
she  wishes  to  be  a better  musician  than  she  is,  and  is  vexed 
with  herself.  What  she  thinks  is : 4 If  I only  could  sing 

well,  if  I had  a fine  voice,  when  he  was  at  his  mother’s  it 
would  be  sure  to  reach  his  ears ! ’ 

Doctor  Minoret  took  out  a note-book  and  wrote  down  the 
exact  hour. 

“ Can  you  tell  me  what  seeds  she  has  sown  ? ” 


n 


URSULE  MIROUET 


“ Mignonette,  sweet  peas,  balsams ” 

“ And  lastly?  ” 

“ Larkspur.” 

“ Where  is  my  money?  ” 

“ At  your  lawyer’s;  but  you  invest  as  it  comes  in  without 
losing  a day’s  interest.” 

“ Yes  ; but  where  is  the  money  I keep  at  home  for  the  half- 
yearly  housekeeping?  ” 

“You  keep  it  in  a large  book  bound  in  red,  called  f The 
Pandects  of  Justinian,’  vol.  ii.,  between  the  two  last  pages; 
the  book  is  above  the  sideboard  with  glass  doors,  in  the  divi- 
sion for  folios.  There  is  a whole  row  of  them.  The  money 
is  in  the  last  volume  at  the  end  next  the  drawing-room.  By 
the  way,  vol.  iii.  is  placed  before  vol.  ii.  But  it  is  not  money 
— it  is  in ” 

“ Thousand  franc  notes?”  asked  the  doctor. 

‘ ‘ I cannot  see  clearly  ; they  are  folded  up.  No,  there  are 
two  notes  for  five  hundred  francs  each.” 

“ You  can  see  them  ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ What  are  they  like?  ” 

“One  is  old,  and  very  yellow;  the  other  is  white,  and 
almost  new.” 

This  last  part  of  the  interview  left  Doctor  Minoret  thunder- 
struck. He  looked  at  Bouvard  in  blank  amazement ; but 
Bouvard  and  the  Swedenborgian,  who  were  accustomed  to 
the  astonishment  of  skeptics,  were  conversing  in  an  undertone, 
without  showing  any  surprise  or  amazement. 

Minoret  begged  them  to  allow  him  to  return  after  dinner. 
The  anti-mesmerist  wanted  to  think  it  over,  to  shake  off  his 
extreme  terror,  so  as  to  test  once  more  this  immense  power,  to 
submit  it  to  some  decisive  experiment,  and  ask  some  questions 
which,  if  answered,  could  leave  no  shadow  of  a doubt. 

“ Be  here  by  nine  o’clock,”  said  the  unknown.  “I  shall 
be  at  your  service.” 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


75 


Minoret  was  so  violently  agitated  that  he  went  away  with- 
out taking  leave,  followed  by  Bouvard,  who  called  after  him — 

“Well?  Well?” 

“I  believe  I am  mad,”  replied  Minoret,  as  they  reached 
the  outer  door.  “If  that  woman  has  told  the  truth  about 
Ursule,  as  there  is  no  one  on  earth  but  Ursule  who  can  know 
what  the  sorceress  has  revealed — you  are  right.  I only  wish  I 
had  wings  to  fly  to  Nemours  and  verify  her  statements.  But 
I will  hire  a post-chaise  and  start  at  ten  this  evening.  Oh  ! I 
am  going  crazy  ! ” 

“What  would  you  think,  then,  if  you  had  known  a man 
incurable  for  years  made  perfectly  well  in  five  seconds  ; if  you 
could  see  that  great  magnetizer  make  a leper  sweat  profusely ; 
or  make  a crippled  woman  walk  ? ’ ’ 

“Let  us  dine  together,  Bouvard,  and  stay  with  me  till  nine 
o’clock.  I want  to  devise  some  decisive  and  irrefutable  test.” 

“ Certainly,  old  friend,”  replied  the  Mesmerian  doctor. 

The  reconciled  enemies  went  to  dine  at  the  Palais  Royal. 
After  an  eager  conversation,  which  helped  Minoret  to  escape 
from  the  turmoil  of  ideas  that  racked  his  brain,  Bouvard  said 
to  him — 

“If  you  discern  in  this  woman  a real  power  to  annihilate 
space,  if  you  can  but  convince  yourself  that  she,  here,  from 
the  Church  of  the  Assumption,  can  see  and  hear  what  is  going 
on  at  Nemours,  you  must  then  admit  all  other  effects  of  mag- 
netism ; they  are  to  a skeptic  quite  as  impossible  as  these. 
Ask  her,  therefore,  one  single  proof  that  may  satisfy  you,  for 
you  may  imagine  that  we  have  procured  all  this  information. 
But  we  cannot  possibly  know,  for  instance,  what  will  happen 
this  evening  at  nine  o’clock  in  your  house,  in  your  ward’s 
bedroom.  Remember  or  write  down  exactly  what  the  clair- 
voyant may  tell  you,  and  hasten  home.  Little  Ursule,  whom 
I never  saw,  is  not  our  accomplice  ; and,  if  she  shall  have 
done  or  said  what  you  will  have  written  down,  bow  thy  head, 
proud  infidel  ! ” 


76 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


The  two  friends  returned  to  the  Swedenborgian’s  rooms, 
and  there  found  the  woman,  who  did  not  recognize  Doctor 
Minoret.  Her  eyes  gently  closed  under  the  hand  which  the 
master  stretched  out  to  her  from  afar,  and  she  sank  into  the 
attitude  in  which  Minoret  had  seen  her  before  dinner.  When 
his  hand  and  hers  were  placed  in  connection  he  desired  her 
to  tell  him  all  that  was  happening  in  his  house  at  Nemours  at 
that  moment. 

“What  is  Ursule  doing?”  he  asked. 

“ She  is  in  her  dressing-gown  ; she  has  finished  putting  in 
her  curl-papers ; she  is  kneeling  on  her  prie-Dieu  in  front  of 
an  ivory  crucifix  fastened  on  to  a panel  of  red  velvet.” 

“ What  is  she  saying  ? ” 

“ Her  evening  prayers ; she  commends  herself  to  God ; 
she  beseeches  Him  to  keep  her  soul  free  from  evil  thoughts  ; 
she  examines  her  conscience,  going  over  all  she  has  done 
during  the  day  to  see  whether  she  has  failed  in  obedience  to 
His  commandments  or  those  of  the  church ; she  is  stripping 
her  heart  bare,  poor  dear  little  thing.”  There  were  tears  in 
the  clairvoyant’s  eyes.  “ She  has  committed  no  sin  ; but 
she  blames  herself  for  having  thought  too  much  of  Monsieur 
Savinien,”  she  went  on.  “ She  stops  to  wonder  what  he  is 
doing  in  Paris,  and  prays  to  God  to  make  him  happy.  She 
ends  with  you,  and  says  a prayer  aloud.” 

“ Can  you  repeat  it  ? ” 

“Yes.” 

Minoret  took  out  his  pencil  and  wrote  at  the  woman’s 
dictation  the  following  prayer,  evidently  composed  by  the 
Abbe  Chaperon — 

“‘O  God,  if  Thou  art  pleased  with  Thy  handmaid,  who 
adores  Thee  and  beseeches  Thee  with  all  love  and  fervor, 
who  strives  not  to  wander  from  Thy  holy  commandments, 
who  would  gladly  die,  as  Thy  Son  died,  to  glorify  Thy  name, 
who  would  fain  live  under  Thy  shadow,  Thou  to  whom  all 
hearts  are  open,  grant  me  the  mercy  that  my  godfather’s  eyes 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


77 


may  be  unsealed,  lead  him  into  the  way  of  life,  and  give  him 
Thy  grace,  that  he  may  dwell  in  Thee  during  his  latter  days ; 
preserve  him  from  all  ill,  and  let  me  suffer  in  his  stead  ! 
Holy  Saint  Ursule,  my  beloved  patron  saint,  and  thou, 
mother  of  God,  queen  of  heaven,  archangels,  and  saints  in 
paradise,  hear  me  ; join  your  intercessions  to  mine,  and  have 
pity  on  us!  ’ ” 

The  clairvoyant  so  exactly  imitated  the  child’s  innocent 
gestures  and  saintly  aspirations  that  Doctor  Minoret’s  eyes 
filled  with  tears. 

“ Does  she  say  anything  more  ? ” he  asked. 

“Yes.” 

“ Repeat  it.” 

“ ‘ Dear  godfather  ! Whom  will  he  play  backgammon 
with  in  Paris  ? ’ She  has  blown  out  her  light,  lays  down  her 
head,  and  goes  to  sleep.  She  is  gone  off!  She  looks  so 
pretty  in  her  little  night-cap  ! ” 

Minoret  took  leave  of  the  great  unknown,  shook  hands  with 
Bouvard,  ran  downstairs,  and  hurried  off  to  a stand  of  coaches, 
which  at  that  time  existed  under  the  gateway  of  a mansion 
since  demolished  to  make  way  for  the  Rue  d’Alger.  He 
there  found  a driver,  and  asked  him  if  he  would  set  out  forth- 
with for  Fontainebleau.  The  price  having  been  agreed  on, 
the  old  man,  made  young  again,  set  out  that  very  minute. 
As  agreed,  he  let  the  horse  rest  at  Essonne,  then  drove  on  till 
they  picked  up  the  Nemours  diligence,  and  dismissed  his 
coachman. 

He  reached  home  by  about  five  in  the  morning,  and  went 
to  bed  amid  the  wreck  of  all  his  former  notions  of  physiology, 
of  nature,  and  of  metaphysics ; and  he  slept  till  nine,  he  was 
so  tired  by  his  expedition. 

On  waking,  the  doctor,  quite  sure  that  no  one  had  crossed 
the  threshold  since  his  return,  proceeded  to  verify  the  facts, 
not  without  an  invincible  dread.  He  himself  had  forgotten 
the  difference  between  the  two  bank-notes,  and  the  displace* 


78 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


ment  of  the  two  volumes  of  “The  Pandects.”  The  somnam- 
bulist had  seen  rightly.  He  rang  for  La  Bougival. 

“Tell  Ursule  to  come  to  speak  to  me,”  said  he,  sitting 
down  in  the  middle  of  the  library. 

The  girl  came  at  once,  flew  to  his  side,  and  kissed  him ; 
the  doctor  took  her  on  his  knee,  where,  as  she  sat,  her  fine  fair 
tresses  mingled  with  her  godfather’s  white  hair. 

“You  have  something  to  say  to  me,  godfather?” 

“Yes.  But  promise  me,  on  your  soul,  to  reply  frankly, 
unequivocally,  to  my  questions.” 

Ursule  blushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair. 

“ Oh  ! I will  ask  you  nothing  that  you  cannot  answer,”  he 
went  on,  seeing  the  bashfulness  of  first  love  clouding  the 
hitherto  childlike  clearness  of  her  lovely  eyes. 

“Speak,  godfather.” 

“ With  what  thought  did  you  end  your  evening  prayers  last 
night ; and  at  what  hour  did  you  say  them  ? ” 

“ It  was  a quarter-past  nine,  or  half-past.” 

“ Well,  repeat  now  your  last  prayer.” 

The  young  girl  hoped  that  her  voice  might  communicate 
her  faith  to  the  unbeliever;  she  rose,  knelt  down,  and  clasped 
her  hands  fervently  ; a radiant  look  beamed  in  her  face,  she 
glanced  at  the  old  man,  and  said — 

“What  I asked  of  God  last  night  I prayed  for  again  this 
morning,  and  shall  still  ask  till  He  grants  it  me.” 

Then  she  repeated  the  prayer  with  fresh  and  emphatic 
expression ; but,  to  her  great  surprise,  her  godfather  inter- 
rupted her,  ending  it  himself. 

“ Well,  Ursule,”  said  the  doctor,  drawing  her  on  to  his 
knees  again,  “ and  as  you  went  to  sleep  with  your  head  on  the 
pillow,  did  you  not  say,  ‘ Dear  godfather ! Whom  will  he 
play  backgammon  with  in  Paris  ? ’ ” 

Ursule  started  to  her  feet  as  though  the  trump  of  judgment 
had  sounded  in  her  ears ; she  gave  a cry  of  terror ; her 
dilated  eyes  stared  at  the  old  man  with  fixed  horror. 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


79 


“ Who  are  you,  godfather  ? Where  did  you  get  such  a 
power?”  she  asked,  fancying  that  as  he  did  not  believe  in 
God,  he  must  have  made  a compact  with  the  angel  of  hell. 

“ What  did  you  sow  in  the  garden  yesterday?  ” 

“ Mignonette,  sweet  peas,  balsams ” 

“And  larkspurs  to  end  with?” 

She  fell  on  her  knees. 

“ Do  not  terrify  me,  godfather  ! But  you  were  here,  were 
you  not  ? ” 

“Am  I not  always  with  you  ? ” replied  the  doctor  in  jest, 
to  spare  the  innocent  child’s  reason. 

“ Let  us  go  to  your  room.”  Then  he  gave  her  his  arm  and 
went  upstairs. 

“Your  knees  are  quaking,  godfather,”  said  she. 

“Yes;  I feel  quite  overset.” 

“Do  you  at  last  believe  in  God?”  she  exclaimed,  with 
innocent  gladness,  though  the  tears  rose  to  her  eyes. 

The  old  man  looked  round  the  neat  and  simple  room  he 
had  arranged  for  Ursule*  On  the  floor  was  an  inexpensive 
green  drugget,  which  she  kept  exquisitely  clean  ; on  the  walls 
a paper  with  a pale-gray  ground  and  a pattern  of  roses  with 
their  green  leaves ; there  were  white  cotton  curtains,  with  a 
pink  border,  to  the  windows  looking  on  the  courtyard ; be- 
tween the  windows,  below  a tall  mirror,  a console  of  gilt 
wood  with  a marble  slab,  on  which  stood  a blue  Sevres  vase 
for  flowers ; and  opposite  the  fireplace  a pretty  inlaid  chest 
of  drawers  with  a top  of  fine  marble.  The  bed,  furnished 
with  old  chintz,  and  chintz  curtains  lined  with  pink,  was  one 
of  the  old  duchessc  four-post  beds  which  were  common  in  the 
eighteenth  century,  ornamented  with  a capital  of  carved 
feathers  to  each  of  the  fluted  columns  at  the  corners.  On 
the  chimney-shelf  was  an  old  clock,  mounted  in  a sort  of 
catafalque  of  tortoise-shell  inlaid  with  ivory ; the  marble 
chimney-piece  and  candelabra,  the  glass,  and  the  pier,  painted 
in  shades  of  gray,  had  a remarkably  good  effect  of  tone,  color, 


80 


UR SUL E MIROUET. 


and  style.  A large  wardrobe,  the  doors  inlaid  with  land- 
scapes in  various  kinds  of  wood,  some  of  them  of  greenish 
tint,  hardly  to  be  met  with  in  these  days,  no  doubt  contained 
her  linen  and  her  dresses. 

The  atmosphere  of  this  room  had  a fragrance  as  of  heaven. 
The  careful  arrangement  of  everything  indicated  a spirit  of 
order,  a feeling  for  the  harmony  of  things,  that  would  have 
struck  any  one,  even  a Minoret-Levrault.  It  was,  above  all, 
easy  to  see  how  dear  to  Ursule  were  the  things  about  her,  and 
how  fond  she  was  of  the  room  which  was,  so  to  speak,  part 
of  all  her  life  as  a child  and  a young  girl. 

While  looking  round  at  it  all  as  an  excuse,  the  guardian 
convinced  himself  that  from  her  window  Ursule  could  see 
across  to  Madame  de  Portenduere’s  house.  During  the  night 
he  had  considered  the  line  of  conduct  to  be  taken  with  regard 
to  the  secret  he  had  discovered  of  her  budding  passion.  To 
question  his  ward  would  compromise  him  in  her  eyes ; for 
either  he  must  approve  or  disapprove  of  her  love ; in  either 
case  he  would  be  awkwardly  situated.  He  had  therefore  de- 
termined that  he  would  study  for  himself  the  relations  of 
young  Portenduere  and  Ursule,  to  decide  whether  he  should 
try  to  counteract  her  inclination  before  it  had  become  irre- 
sistible. Only  an  old  man  could  show  so  much  prudence. 
Still  gasping  under  the  shock  of  finding  the  magnetic  revela- 
tions true,  he  turned  about,  examining  the  smallest  things  in 
the  room,  for  he  wished  to  glance  at  the  almanac  which  hung 
by  a corner  of  the  chimney-piece. 

“ These  clumsy  candlesticks  are  too  heavy  for  your  pretty 
little  hands,”  he  said,  taking  up  the  marble  candlesticks, 
ornamented  with  brass. 

He  weighed  them  in  his  hands,  looked  at  the  almanac, 
unhooked  it,  and  said — 

“ This,  too,  seems  to  me  very  ugly.  Why  do  you  hang 
this  common  calendar  in  such  a pretty  room?  ” 

“ Oh,  leave  me  that,  godfather  ! ” 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


81 


“No,  no;  you  shall  have  another  to-morrow.” 

He  went  downstairs  again,  carrying  away  the  convicting 
document,  shut  himself  into  his  room,  looked  for  Saint 
Savinien,  and  found,  as  the  clairvoyant  had  said,  a small  red 
dot  at  the  19th  of  October;  he  found  such  another  at  Saint 
Denis’  day,  his  own  patron  saint ; and  at  Saint  John’s  day — 
that  of  the  cure.  And  this  dot,  as  large  as  a pin’s  head,  the 
sleeping  woman  had  discerned  in  spite  of  distance  and  obsta- 
cles. The  old  man  meditated  till  dusk  on  all  these  facts, 
more  stupendous  to  him  than  to  any  other  man.  He  was 
forced  to  yield  to  evidence.  A thick  wall,  within  himself,  as 
it  were,  crumbled  down  ; for  he  had  lived  on  the  double 
foundation  of  his  indifference  to  religion  and  his  denial  of 
magnetism.  By  proving  that  the  senses — a purely  physical 
structure,  mere  organs  whose  effects  can  all  be  explained — 
were  conterminous  with  some  of  the  attributes  of  infinity, 
magnetism  overthrew,  or  at  any  rate  seemed  to  him  to  over- 
throw, Spinoza’s  powerful  logic  : The  finite  and  the  infinite, 
two  elements  which,  according  to  that  great  man,  are  incom- 
patible, existed  one  in  the  other.  However  great  the  power 
he  could  conceive  of  the  divisibility  and  mobility  of  matter, 
he  could  not  credit  it  with  almost  divine  characters.  And  he 
was  too  old  to  connect  these  phenomena  with  a system,  to 
compare  them  with  those  of  sleep,  of  vision,  or  of  light.  All 
his  scientific  theory,  based  on  the  statements  of  the  school  of 
Locke  and  Condillac,  lay  in  ruins.  On  seeing  his  hollow 
idols  wrecked,  his  incredulity  naturally  was  shaken.  Hence 
all  the  advantages  in  this  struggle  between  Catholic  youth  and 
Voltairean  old  age  was  certain  to  be  on  Ursule’s  side.  A 
beam  of  light  fell  on  the  dismantled  fortress  in  ruins ; from 
the  depths  of  the  wreckage  rose  the  cry  of  prayer. 

And  yet  the  stiff-necked  old  man  tried  to  dispute  his  own 
doubts.  Though  stricken  to  the  heart,  he  could  not  make  up 
his  mind  ; he  still  strove  with  God.  At  the  same  time  his 
mind  seemed  to  vacillate ; he  was  not  the  same  man.  He 
6 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


82 

became  unnaturally  pensive;  he  read  the  “Pensees”  of 
Pascal,  Bossuet’s  sublime  “ Histoire  des  Variations;”  he 
studied  Bonald ; he  read  Saint  Augustine ; he  also  read 
through  the  works  of  Swedenborg  and  of  the  deceased  Saint- 
Martin,  of  whom  the  mysterious  stranger  had  spoken.  The 
structure  raised  in  this  man  by  materialism  was  splitting  on 
all  sides ; a shock  alone  was  needed ; and  when  his  heart  was 
ripe  for  God,  it  fell  into  the  heavenly  vineyard  as  fruits  drop. 
Several  times  already  in  the  evening,  when  playing  his  game 
with  the  priest,  his  goddaughter  sitting  by,  he  had  asked 
questions  which,  in  view  of  his  opinions,  struck  the  Abbe 
Chaperon  as  strange  ; for  as  yet  he  knew  not  of  the  moral 
travail  by  which  God  was  rectifying  this  noble  conscience. 

“Do  you  believe  in  apparitions?”  the  infidel  suddenly 
asked  his  pastor,  pausing  in  his  game. 

“ Cardain,  a great  philosopher  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
said  that  he  had  seen  some,”  replied  the  cure. 

“I  know  of  all  those  that  the  philosophers  have  seen;  I 
have  just  re-read  Plotinus.  At  this  moment  I ask  you  as  a 
Catholic  : I want  to  know  whether  you  think  that  a dead 
man  can  return  to  visit  the  living.” 

“Well,  Jesus  appeared  to  His  apostles  after  His  death,” 
replied  the  priest.  “ The  church  must  believe  in  the  apparition 
of  our  Lord.  As  to  miracles,  there  is  no  lack  of  them,” 
added  the  Abbe  Chaperon  with  a smile.  “Would  you  like 
to  hear  of  the  latest  ? Some  were  wrought  in  the  eighteenth 
century.” 

“Pooh!” 

“Yes;  the  blessed  Maria-Alphonzo  de  Liguori  knew  of 
the  pope’s  death  when  he  was  far  from  Rome,  at  the  moment 
when  the  holy  father  expired,  and  there  were  many  witnesses 
to  the  miracle.  The  reverend  bishop,  in  a trance,  heard  the 
pontiff’s  last  words,  and  repeated  them  to  several  persons. 
The  messenger  bringing  the  news  did  not  arrive  till  thirty 
hours  later ” 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM, 


83 


44  Jesuit ! ” said  Minoret  with  a smile  ; 44  I do  not  ask  you 
for  proofs  ; I ask  you  whether  you  believe  it.” 

44  I believe  that  the  apparition  depends  greatly  on  the 
person  seeing  it,”  said  the  cure,  still  laughing  at  the  skeptic. 

44  My  dear  friend,  I am  not  laying  a trap  for  you.  What  is 
your  belief  on  this  point?” 

“I  believe  that  the  power  of  God  is  infinite,”  replied  the 
abbe. 

44  When  I die,  if  I am  at  peace  with  God,  I will  entreat 
Him  to  let  me  appear  to  you,”  said  the  doctor,  laughing. 

4 4 That  is  precisely  the  agreement  made  by  Cardan  with  his 
friend,”  replied  the  cure. 

“Ursule,”  said  Minoret,  44  if  ever  a danger  should  threaten 
you,  call  me — I would  come.” 

44  You  have  just  put  into  simple  words  the  touching  elegy 
called  4Neere,’  by  Andre  Chenier,”  replied  the  cure.  “But 
poets  are  great  only  because  they  know  how  to  embody  facts 
or  feelings  in  perennially  living  forms.” 

“Why  do  you  talk  of  dying,  my  dear  godfather?”  said 
the  young  girl  sadly.  44  We  shall  not  die,  we  who  are  Chris- 
tians ; the  grave  is  but  the  cradle  of  the  soul.” 

44  Well,  well,”  said  the  doctor  with  a smile,  44  we  are  bound 
to  quit  this  world  ; and  when  I am  no  more,  you  will  be  very 
much  astonished  at  your  fortune.” 

44  When  you  are  no  more,  my  kind  godfather,  my  only  con- 
solation will  be  to  devote  my  life  to  you.” 

44  To  me — when  I am  dead  ? ” 

44  Yes.  All  the  good  works  I may  be  able  to  do  shall  be 
done  in  your  name  to  redeem  your  errors.  I will  pray  to 
God  day  by  day  to  persuade  His  infinite  mercy  not  to  punish 
eternally  the  faults  of  a day,  but  to  give  a place  near  to  Him- 
self among  the  spirits  of  the  blest  to  a soul  so  noble  and  so 
pure  as  yours.” 

This  reply,  spoken  with  angelic  candor  and  in  a tone  of 
absolute  conviction,  confounded  error  and  converted  Doctor 


84 


URSULE  M1R0UET. 


Minoret  like  another  Saint  Paul.  A flash  of  internal  light 
stunned  him,  and  at  the  same  time  this  tenderness,  extending 
even  to  the  life  to  come,  brought  tears  to  his  eyes.  This  sud- 
den effect  of  grace  was  almost  electrical,  The  cure  clasped 
his  hands  and  stood  up  in  his  agitation.  The  child  herself, 
surprised  at  her  success,  shed  tears.  The  old  man  drew  him- 
self up  as  though  some  one  had  called  him,  looked  into  space 
as  if  he  saw  an  aurora ; then  he  knelt  on  his  armchair,  folded 
his  hands,  and  cast  down  his  eyes  in  deep  humiliation. 

“ Great  God  ! ” he  said,  in  a broken  voice,  and  looking  up 
to  heaven,  “if  any  one  can  obtain  my  forgiveness,  and  lead 
me  to  Thee,  is  it  not  this  spotless  creature?  Pardon  my 
repentant  old  age,  presented  to  Thee  by  this  glorious  child  ! ” 

He  lifted  up  his  soul  in  silence  to  God,  beseeching  Him  to 
enlighten  him  by  knowledge  after  having  overwhelmed  him 
by  grace ; then,  turning  to  the  cure,  he  held  out  his  hand, 
saying — 

“ My  dear  father  in  God,  I am  a little  child  again.  I am 
yours;  I give  my  soul  into  your  hands.” 

Ursule  kissed  her  godfather’s  hands,  covering  them  with 
tears  of  joy.  The  old  man  took  her  on  his  knee,  gaily  calling 
her  his  godmother.  The  cure,  much  moved,  recited  the 
Verti  Creator  in  a sort  of  religious  transport.  This  hymn  was 
their  evening  prayer  as  the  three  Christians  knelt  together. 

“What  has  happened?”  asked  La  Bougival  in  astonish- 
ment. 

“ At  last  my  godfather  believes  in  God  ! ” cried  Ursule. 

“ And  a good  thing  too ; that  was  all  that  was  wanting  to 
make  him  perfect ! ” exclaimed  the  old  peasant-woman,  cross- 
ing herself  with  simple  gravity. 

“My  dear  doctor,”  said  the  good  priest,  “you  will  soon 
have  mastered  the  grandeur  of  religion  and  the  necessity  for 
its  exercises;  and  you  will  find  its  philosophy,  in  so  far  as  it 
is  human,  much  loftier  than  that  of  the  most  daring  minds.” 

The  cur6,  who  displayed  an  almost  childlike  joy,  then  agreed 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


85 


to  instruct  the  old  man  by  meeting  him  as  a catechumen  twice 
a week. 

Thus  the  conversion  ascribed  to  Ursule  and  to  a spirit  of 
sordid  self-interest  had  been  spontaneous.  The  priest,  who 
for  fourteen  years  had  restrained  himself  from  touching  the 
wounds  in  that  heart,  though  he  had  deeply  deplored  them, 
had  been  appealed  to,  as  we  go  to  a surgeon  when  we  feel  an 
injury.  Since  that  scene  every  evening  Ursule’s  prayers  had 
become  family  prayers.  Every  moment  the  old  man  had  felt 
peace  growing  upon  him  in  the  place  of  agitation.  And 
viewing  God  as  the  responsible  editor  of  inexplicable  facts — 
as  he  put  it — his  mind  was  quite  easy.  His  darling  child  told 
him  that  by  this  it  could  be  seen  that  he  was  making  progress 
in  the  kingdom  of  God. 

To-day,  during  the  service,  he  had  just  read  the  prayers 
with  the  exercise  of  his  understanding ; for,  in  his  first  talk 
with  the  cure,  he  had  risen  to  the  divine  idea  of  the  com- 
munion of  the  faithful.  The  venerable  neophyte  had  under- 
stood the  eternal  symbol  connected  with  that  nourishment, 
which  faith  makes  necessary  as  soon  as  the  whole,  deep,  glori- 
ous meaning  of  the  symbol  is  thoroughly  felt.  If  he  had 
seemed  in  a hurry  to  get  home,  it  was  to  thank  his  dear  little 
goddaughter  for  having  brought  him  to  the  Lord,  to  use  the 
fine  old-fashioned  phrase.  And  so  he  had  her  on  his  knee  in 
his  drawing-room,  and  was  kissing  her  solemnly  on  the  brow, 
at  the  very  moment  when  his  heirs,  defiling  her  holy  influence 
* by  their  ignoble  alarms,  were  lavishing  on  Ursule  their  coarsest 
abuse.  The  good  man’s  haste  to  be  at  home,  his  scorn,  as 
they  thought  it,  for  his  relations,  his  sharp  replies  as  he  left  the 
church,  were  all  naturally  attributed  by  each  of  the  family 
to  the  hatred  for  them  which  Ursule  had  implanted  in  him. 

While  the  girl  was  playing  to  her  godfather  the  variations 
on  La  dcrnilrc  Pensee  musicale  of  Weber,  a plot  was  being 
hatched  in  Minoret-Levrauit’s  dining-room,  which  was  des- 


86 


UliSULE  M1R0VET. 


tined  to  bring  on  to  the  stage  one  of  the  most  important  actors 
in  this  drama.  The  breakfast,  which  lasted  two  hours,  was  as 
noisy  as  a provincial  breakfast  always  is,  and  washed  down  by 
capital  wine  brought  to  Nemours  by  canal,  either  from  Bur- 
gundy or  from  Touraine.  Zelie  had  procured  some  shell-fish 
too,  some  sea-fish,  and  a few  rarer  dainties  to  do  honor  to 
Desire’s  return. 

The  dining-room,  in  its  midst  the  round  table  of  tempting 
aspect,  looked  like  an  inn-room.  Zelie,  satisfied  with  the 
extent  of  her  household  offices,  had  built  a large  room  between 
the  vast  courtyard  and  the  kitchen-garden,  which  was  full  of 
vegetables  and  fruit-trees.  Here  everything  was  merely  neat 
and  substantial.  The  example  set  by  Levrault-Levrault  had 
been  a terror  to  the  countryside,  and  Zelie  had  forbidden  the 
master-builder’s  dragging  her  into  any  such  folly.  The  room 
was  hung  with  satin  paper,  and  furnished  with  plain  walnut- 
wood  chairs  and  sideboards,  with  an  earthenware  stove,  a 
clock  on  the  wall,  and  a barometer.  Though  the  crockery 
was  ordinary — plain  white  china — the  table  shone  with  linen 
and  abundant  plate. 

As  soon  as  the  coffee  had  been  served  by  Zelie,  who  hopped 
to  and  fro  like  a grain  of  shot  in  a bottle  of  champagne,  for 
she  kept  but  one  cook  ; and  when  Desire,  the  budding  lawyer, 
had  been  fully  apprised  of  the  great  event  of  the  morning  and 
its  results,  Zelie  shut  the  door,  and  the  notary  Dionis  was 
called  upon  to  speak.  The  silence  that  fell,  the  looks  fixed 
by  each  expectant  heir  on  that  authoritative  face,  plainly 
showed  how  great  is  the  influence  exercised  by  these  men  over 
whole  families. 

“ My  dear  children,”  he' began,  “ your  uncle,  having  been 
born  in  1746,  is  at  this  day  eighty-three  years  old  ; now  old 
men  are  liable  to  fits  of  folly,  and  this  little ” 

“ Viper  ! ” exclaimed  Madame  Massin. 

“ Wretch  ! ” said  Zelie. 

“We  will  only  call  her  by  her  name,”  said  Dionis. . 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


87 


‘‘Well,  then,  a thief,”  said  Madame  Cremiere. 

“A  very  pretty  thief,”  added  Desire  Minoret. 

“This  little  Ursule,”  Dionis  went  on,  “is  very  dear  to 
him.  I have  not  waited  till  this  morning  to  make  inquiries 
in  the  interest  of  you  all  as  my  clients,  and  this  is  what  I have 
learned  concerning  this  young ” 

“ Spoiler  ! ” put  in  the  tax-collector. 

“ Underhand  fortune-hunter,”  said  the  lawyer’s  clerk. 

“ Hush,  my  friends,  or  I shall  put  on  my  hat  and  go,  and 
good-day  to  you.” 

“ Come,  come,  old  man  ! ” said  Minoret,  pouring  him  out 
a liqueur  glassful  of  rum.  “ Drink  that ; it  comes  from  Rome, 
direct.” 

“Ursule  is  no  doubt  Joseph  Mirouet’s  legitimate  offspring. 
But  her  father  was  the  natural  son  of  Valentin  Mirouet,  your 
uncle’s  father-in-law.  Thus  Ursule  is  the  natural  niece  of 
Doctor  Denis  Minoret.  As  his  natural  niece,  any  will  the 
doctor  may  make  in  her  favor  may  perhaps  be  void,  and  if  he 
should  leave  her  his  fortune,  you  may  bring  a lawsuit  against 
her ; this  might  be  bad  enough  for  you,  for  it  is  impossible  to 
say  that  there  is  no  tie  of  relationship  between  the  doctor  and 
Ursule;  still,  a lawsuit  would  certainly  frighten  a defenseless 
girl,  and  would  result  in  a compromise.” 

“ The  law  is  so  rigorous  as  to  the  rights  of  natural  children,” 
said  the  newly-hatched  lawyer,  eager  to  display  his  learning, 
“ that  by  the  terms  of  a judgment  of  the  Court  of  Appeals  of 
July  7,  1817,  a natural  child  can  claim  nothing  from  its  natural 
grandfather,  not  even  maintenance.  So,  you  see,  that  the 
parentage  of  a natural  child  carries  back.  The  law  is  against 
a natural  child,  even  in  his  legitimate  descendants;  for  it 
regards  any  legacies  benefiting  the  grandchildren  as  bestowed 
through  the  personal  intermediary  of  the  natural  son,  their 
parent.  This  is  the  inference  from  a comparison  of  Articles 
75 7,  908,  and  91 1 of  the  Civil  Code.  And,  in  fact,  the  Royal 
Court  of  Paris,  on  the  26th  of  December,  only  last  year, 


88 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


reduced  a legacy  bequeathed  to  the  legitimate  child  of  a 
natural  son  by  its  grandfather,  who,  as  its  grandfather,  was  as 
much  a stranger  in  blood  to  his  natural  grandson  as  the  doctor 
is  to  Ursule  as  her  uncle.” 

“ All  that,”  said  Goupil,  “seems  to  me  to  relate  only  to 
the  question  of  bequests  made  by  grandparents  to  their 
illegitimate  descendants ; it  has  nothing  to  do  with  uncles, 
who  do  not  appear  to  me  to  have  any  blood  relationships  to 
the  legitimate  offspring  of  these  natural  half-brothers.  Ursule 
is  a stranger  in  blood  to  Doctor  Minoret.  I remember  a 
judgment  delivered  in  the  Supreme  Court  at  Colmar  in  1825, 
when  I was  finishing  my  studies,  by  which  it  was  pronounced 
that  the  illegitimate  child  being  dead,  his  descendants  could 
no  longer  be  liable  to  his  interposition.  Now  Ursule’s  father 
is  dead.” 

Goupil’s  argument  produced,  what  in  reports  of  law  cases 
journalists  are  accustomed  to  designate  by  this  parenthesis : 
( Great  sensation). 

“What  does  that  matter?”  cried  Dionis.  “Even  if  the 
case  of  a legacy  left  by  the  uncle  of  an  illegitimate  child  has 
never  yet  come  before  the  courts,  if  it  should  occur,  the  rigor 
of  the  French  law  towards  natural  children  will  be  all  the 
more  surely  applied,  because  we  live  in  times  when  religion  is 
respected.  And  I will  answer  for  it  that,  in  such  a suit,  a 
compromise  would  be  offered ; especially  if  it  were  known 
that  you  were  resolved  to  carry  the  case  against  Ursule  even 
to  the  court  of  last  resort.” 

The  delight  of  heirs  who  might  find  piles  of  gold  betrayed 
itself  in  smiles,  little  jumps,  and  gestures  all  round  the  table. 
No  one  observed  Goupil’s  shake  of  dissent.  But,  then,  this 
exultation  was  immediately  followed  by  deep  silence  and  dis- 
may at  the  notary’s  next  word — 

“But ” 

Dionis  at  once  saw  every  eye  fixed  on  him,  every  face 
assuming  the  same  angle,  just  as  if  he  had  pulled  the  wire  of 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


89 


one  of  those  toy  theatres  where  all  the  figures  move  in  jerks 
by  the  action  of  wheel-work. 

“ But  there  is  no  law  to  hinder  your  uncle  from  adopting 
or  marrying  Ursule,”  he  went  on.  “As  to  an  adoption,  it 
might  be  disputed,  and  you  would,  I believe,  win  the  case  ; 
the  high  courts  are  not  to  be  trifled  with  in  the  matter  of 
adoption,  and  you  would  be  examined  in  the  preliminary 
inquiry.  It  is  all  very  well  for  the  doctor  to  display  the  rib- 
bon of  St.  Michael,  to  be  an  officer  of  the  Legion  of  Honor, 
and  formerly  physician  to  the  ex-Emperor;  he  would  go  to 
the  wall.  But  though  you  might  be  warned  in  case  of  an 
adoption,  how  are  you  to  know  if  he  marries  her  ? The  old 
fellow  is  quite  sharp  enough  to  get  married  in  Paris  after 
residing  there  for  a year,  and  to  secure  to  his  bride  a settle- 
ment of  a million  francs  under  the  marriage  contract.  The 
only  thing,  therefore,  which  really  jeopardizes  your  inherit- 
ance is  that  your  uncle  should  marry  the  child.”  Here  the 
notary  paused. 

“ There  is  another  risk,”  said  Goupil,  with  a knowing  air. 
“ He  may  make  a will  in  favor  of  a third  person,  old  Bon- 
grand  for  instance,  who  would  be  constituted  trustee  for 
Mademoiselle  Ursule  Mirouet.” 

“If  you  worry  your  uncle,”  Dionis  began  again,  cutting 
short  his  head  clerk,  “ if  you  are  not  all  as  nice  as  possible  to 
Ursule,  you  will  drive  him  either  into  a marriage  or  into  the 
trusteeship  of  which  Goupil  speaks  ; but  I do  not  think  he  is 
likely  to  have  recourse  to  a trust ; it  is  a dangerous  alterna- 
tive. As  to  his  marrying  her,  it  is  easy  to  prevent  it. 
Desire  has  only  to  show  the  girl  a little  attention ; she  will 
certainly  prefer  a charming  young  fellow,  the  cock  of  the 
walk  at  Nemours,  to  an  old  man.” 

“ Mother,”  said  the  postmaster’s  son  in  Zelie’s  ear,  tempted 
both  by  the  money  and  by  Ursule’s  beauty,  “ if  I were  to 
marry  her,  we  should  get  it  all.” 

“Are  you  mad?  You  who  will  have  fifty  thousand  francs 


90 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


a year  one  of  these  days  and  who  are  sure  to  be  elected 
deputy  ! So  long  as  I live  you  shall  never  hang  a millstone 
round  your  neck  by  a foolish  marriage.  Seven  hundred  thou- 
sand francs  ? Thank  you  for  nothing  ! Why,  monsieur,  the 
mayor’s  only  daughter  will  have  fifty  thousand  a year,  and 
they  have  already  made  overtures.” 

This  reply,  in  which,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  his  mother 
spoke  roughly  to  him,  extinguished  in  Desire  every  hope  of 
marrying  the  fair  Ursule,  for  his  father  and  he  could  never 
gain  the  day  against  the  determination  written  in  Zelie’s 
terrible  blue  eyes. 

“Yes;  but,  I say,  Monsieur  Dionis,”  cried  Cremiere, 
whose  wife  had  nudged  his  elbow,  “ if  the  old  man  took  the 
matter  seriously,  and  let  his  ward  marry  Desire,  settling  on 
her  the  absolute  possession  of  his  property,  good-by  to  our 
chances  ! And  if  he  lives  another  five  years,  our  uncle  will 
have  at  least  a million.” 

“ Never,”  cried  Zelie ; “ never  so  long  as  I live  and  breathe 
shall  Desire  marry  the  daughter  of  a bastard,  a girl  taken  in 
out  of  charity,  picked  up  in  the  streets  ! What  next,  by 
heaven  ? At  his  uncle’s  death  my  son  will  be  the  representa- 
tive of  the  Minorets  ; and  the  Minorets  can  show  five  centuries 
of  good  citizenship.  It  is  as  good  as  a noble  pedigree. 
Make  your  minds  easy.  Desire  shall  marry  when  we  see  what 
he  is  likely  to  do  in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies.” 

This  arrogant  pronouncement  was  seconded  by  Goupil,  who 
added — 

“ With  eighty  thousand  francs  a year,  Desire  may  rise  to  be 
president  of  a supreme  court,  or  public  prosecutor,  which 
'leads  to  a peerage.  A foolish  marriage  would  be  the  ruin  of 
his  prospects.” 

The  heirs  all  began  to  talk  at  once,  but  they  were  silenced 
by  the  blow  of  his  fist  that  Minoret  struck  on  the  table  to 
enable  the  notary  to  speak  on. 

“ Your  uncle  is  an  excellent  and  worthy  man,”  said  Dionis. 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


91 


“ He  believes  himself  immortal ; and,  like  all  clever  men,  he 
will  allow  death  to  overtake  him  before  he  has  made  his  will. 
My  opinion,  therefore,  for  the  moment,  is  that  he  should  be 
induced  to  invest  his  capital  in  such  a way  as  to  make  it  diffi- 
cult to  dispossess  you;  and  the  opportunity  now  offers. 
Young  Portenduere  is  in  Sainte  Pelagie,  locked  up  for  a hun- 
dred and  odd  thousand  francs  of  debts.  His  old  mother 
knows  he  is  in  prison ; she  is  weeping  like  a Magdalen,  and 
has  asked  the  Abbe  Chaperon  to  dinner,  to  talk  over  the 
catastrophe,  no  doubt.  Well,  I shall  go  this  evening  and 
suggest  to  your  uncle  to  sell  his  stock  of  consolidated  five  per 
cents.,  which  are  at  a hundred  and  eighteen,  and  lend  the 
sum  necessary  to  release  the  prodigal  to  Madame  du  Porten- 
duere on  the  farm  at  Bordieres  and  her  dwelling-house.  I am 
within  my  rights  as  a notary  in  applying  to  him  on  behalf  of 
that  little  idiot  of  a Portenduere,  and  it  is  quite  natural  that 
I should  wish  him  to  change  his  investments ; I get  the  com- 
mission, the  stamps,  and  the  business.  If  I can  get  him  to 
take  my  advice,  I shall  propose  to  him  to  invest  the  rest  of 
his  capital  in  real  estate.  I have  some  splendid  lands  for  sale 
in  my  office.  When  once  his  fortune  is  invested  in  real  estate 
or  in  mortgages  on  land  in  this  neighborhood,  it  will  not 
easily  fly  away.  It  is  always  easy  to  raise  difficulties  in  the 
way  of  realizing  the  capital  if  he  should  wish  to  do  so.” 

The  heirs,  struck  by  the  soundness  of  this  logic,  much 
more  skillful  than  that  of  M.  Josse,  expressed  themselves  by 
approving  murmurs. 

“ So  settle  it  among  yourselves,”  added  the  notary,  in  con- 
clusion, “ to  keep  your  uncle  in  this  town,  where  he  has  his 
own  ways,  and  where  you  can  keep  an  eye  on  him.  If  you 
can  find  a lover  for  the  girl,  you  will  hinder  her  marrying.” 

“ But  if  she  were  to  marry  him?”  said  Goupil,  urged  by 
an  ambitious  instinct. 

"That  would  not  be  so  bad  after  all;  your  loss  would  be 
set  down  in  plain  figures,  and  you  would  know  what  the  old 


92 


URSULE  MIROUET \ 


man  would  give  her,”  answered  the  notary.  “ Still,  if  you 
set  Desire  at  her,  he  might  easily  play  fast  and  loose  with  her 
till  the  old  man’s  death.  Marriages  are  arranged  and  upset 
again.” 

‘‘The  shortest  way,”  said  Goupil,  “ if  the  doctor  is  likely 
to  live  a long  time  yet,  would  be  to  get  her  married  to  some 
good  fellow,  who  would  take  her  out  of  the  way  by  settling 
with  her  at  Sens,  or  Montargis,  or  Orleans,  with  a hundred 
thousand  francs  down.” 

Dionis,  Massin,  Zelie,  and  Goupil,  the  only  clear  heads  of 
the  party,  exchanged  glances  full  of  meaning. 

“ He  would  be  a maggot  in  the  pear,”  said  Zelie  in  Massin’s 
ear. 

“ Why  was  he  allowed  to  come  ? ” replied  the  registrar. 

“ That  would  just  suit  you  ! ” exclaimed  Desire  to  Goupil ; 
“but  how  could  you  ever  keep  yourself  decent  enough  to 
please  the  old  man  and  his  ward  ? ’ ’ 

“ You  don’t  think  small  beer  of  yourself!  ” said  Minoret, 
understanding  Goupil  at  last. 

This  coarse  jest  was  greeted  with  shouts  of  laughter.  But 
the  lawyer’s  clerk  glared  at  the  laughers  with  such  a sweeping 
and  terrible  gaze  that  silence  was  immediately  restored. 

“In  these  days,”  Zelie  whispered  to  Massin,  “notaries 
think  only  of  their  own  interests.  What  if  Dionis,  to  get  his 
commission,  should  take  Ursule’s  side?” 

“I  know  he  is  safe,”  replied  the  registrar,  with  a keen 
twinkle  in  his  wicked  little  eyes  ; he  was  about  to  add,  “ I 
have  him  in  my  power,”  but  he  abstained,  deeming  it  the 
more  prudent  course. 

“ I am  entirely  of  Dionis’  opinion,”  he  said  aloud. 

“And  so  am  I,”  exclaimed  Zelie,  though  she  already  sus- 
pected the  notary  and  Massin  to  be  in  collusion  for  their  own 
advantage. 

“ My  wife  has  given  our  vote,”  said  the  postmaster,  sipping 
a glass  of  spirits,  though  his  face  was  already  purple  with 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


93 


digesting  the  meal  and  from  a considerable  consumption  of 
wines  and  liqueurs. 

“ It  is  quite  right,”  said  the  tax-collector. 

“Then  will  I call  on  him  after  dinner?”  asked  Dionis, 
good-naturedly. 

“If  Monsieur  Dionis  is  right,”  said  Madame  Cremiere  to 
Madame  Massin,  “ we  ought  to  go  to  see  your  uncle,  as  we  used 
to,  every  Sunday  evening,  and  do  all  Monsieur  Dionis  has 
just  told  us.” 

“Yes,  indeed!  To  be  received  as  we  have  been,”  ex- 
claimed Zelie.  “ After  all,  we  have  an  income  of  over  forty 
thousand  francs  ; and  he  has  refused  all  our  invitations.  We 
are  as  good  as  he  is.  I can  steer  my  own  ship,  thank  you, 
though  I cannot  write  prescriptions  ! ” 

“ As  I am  far  from  having  forty  thousand  francs  a year,” 
said  Madame  Massin,  nettled,  “lam  not  anxious  to  lose  ten 
thousand  ! ” 

“We  are  his  nieces  ; we  will  look  after  him;  we  shall  see 
what  is  going  on,”  said  Madame  Cremiere.  “ And  some  day, 
Cousin  Zelie,  you  will  be  beholden  to  us.” 

“ Be  civil  to  Ursule  ; old  Jordy  left  her  his  savings,”  said 
the  notary,  putting  his  right  forefinger  to  his  lip. 

“ I will  mind  my  P’s  and  Q’s,”  said  Desire. 

“You  were  a match  for  Desroches,  the  sharpest  attorney  in 
Paris,”  said  Goupil  to  his  master,  as  they  quitted  the  house. 

“ And  they  dispute  our  bills,”  remarked  the  notary,  with  a 
bitter  smile. 

The  heirs,  seeing  out  Dionis  and  his  head  clerk,  found 
themselves  at  the  gate,  all  with  faces  heated  from  the  meal, 
just  as  the  congregation  came  out  from  vespers.  As  the 
notary  had  foretold,  the  Abbe  Chaperon  had  given  his  arm 
to  old  Madame  de  Portenduere. 

“ She  has  dragged  him  to  vespers  ! ” cried  Madame  Massin, 
pointing  out  to  Madame  Cremiere  Ursule  coming  out  of  the 
church  with  her  uncle. 


94 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


“Let  us  go  and  speak  to  him/’  suggested  Madame  Cr6- 
miere,  going  forward. 

The  change  which  the  conclave  had  produced  in  all  their 
countenances  astonished  Doctor  Minoret.  He  wondered  what 
the  cause  could  be  of  this  friendliness  to  order,  and  out  of 
curiosity  he  favored  a meeting  between  Ursule  and  these  two 
women,  who  were  eager  to  address  her  with  exaggerated  sweet- 
ness and  forced  smiles. 

“ Uncle,  will  you  allow  us  to  call  on  you  this  evening?” 
said  Madame  Cremiere.  “ We  sometimes  think  we  are  in  the 
way  ; but  it  is  long  now  since  our  children  have  paid  their 
respects  to  you,  and  our  daughters  are  of  an  age  to  make 
friends  with  dear  Ursule.” 

“ Ursule  justifies  her  name,”  said  the  doctor ; “ she  is  not 
at  all  tame.” 

“ Let  us  tame  her,”  said  Madame  Massin.  “ And  besides, 
my  dear  uncle,”  added  the  prudent  housewife,  trying  to  con- 
ceal her  scheming  under  a semblance  of  economy,  “ we  have 
been  told  that  your  charming  goddaughter  has  such  a talent 
for  the  piano,  that  we  should  be  enchanted  to  hear  her  play. 
Madame  Cremiere  and  I are  rather  inclined  to  have  her  master 
to  teach  our  girls ; for  if  he  had  seven  or  eight  pupils  he  might 
fix  a price  for  his  lessons  within  our  means ” 

“ By  all  means,”  said  the  old  man  ; “ all  the  more,  indeed, 
because  I am  thinking  of  getting  a singing-master  for  Ursule.” 

“Very  well;  then  this  evening,  uncle ; and  we  will  bring 
your  grand-nephew  Desire,  who  is  now  a full-fledged  attor- 
ney.” 

“ Till  this  evening,”  replied  Minoret,  who  wished  to  study 
these  mean  souls. 

His  two  nieces  shook  hands  with  Ursule,  saying  with  affected 
graciousness,  “Till  this  evening.” 

“ Oh,  dear  godfather,  you  can  read  my  heart,  I believe  ! ” 
cried  Ursule,  with  a grateful  look  at  the  old  man. 

“ You  have  a good  voice,”  he  said.  “ And  I also  mean  to 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


95 


give  you  drawing  and  Italian  lessons.  A woman/’  he  added, 
looking  at  Ursule  as  he  opened  the  gate  of  his  own  courtyard, 
“ ought  to  be  educated  in  such  a way  as  to  be  equal  to  any 
position  in  which  she  may  be  placed  by  marriage.” 

Ursule  blushed  as  red  as  a cherry;  her  guardian  seemed  to 
be  thinking  of  the  very  person  she  herself  was  thinking  of. 
Feeling  herself  on  the  point  of  confessing  to  the  doctor  the 
involuntary  impulse  which  made  her  think  of  Savinien,  and 
refer  all  her  strivings  after  perfection  to  him,  she  went  to  sit 
under  the  bower  of  creepers,  against  which  she  looked  from  a 
distance  like  a white  and  blue  flower. 

* ‘Now  you  see,  godfather,  your  nieces  were  kind  to  me; 
they  were  very  nice  just  now,”  said  she,  as  he  followed  her, 
to  mislead  him  as  to  the  thoughts  which  had  made  her  pensive. 

“ Poor  little  thing  ! ” said  the  old  man.  He  laid  Ursule’s 
hand  on  his  arm,  patting  it  gently,  and  led  her  along  the 
terrace  by  the  river,  where  no  one  could  overhear  them. 

“ Why  do  you  say,  ‘ Poor  little  thing?  ’ ” 

“ Can  you  not  see  that  they  are  afraid  of  you?  ” 

“ But  why?” 

“ My  heirs  are  at  this  moment  very  uneasy  about  my  con- 
version ; they  ascribe  it,  no  doubt,  to  your  influence,  and 
fancy  that  I shall  deprive  them  of  their  inheritance  to  make 
you  the  richer.” 

“But  you  will  not?”  said  Ursule  with  simplicity,  and 
looking  in  his  face. 

“Ah,  divine  comfort  of  my  old  age,”  said  the  old  man, 
lifting  her  up,  and  kissing  her  on  both  cheeks.  “It  was  for 
her  sake  and  not  for  my  own,  O God,  that  I besought  Thee 
just  now  to  suffer  me  to  live  till  I shall  have  given  her  into 
the  keeping  of  some  good  man  worthy  of  her  ! You  will  see, 
my  angel,  the  farce  that  the  Minorets  and  the  Cremieres  and 
the  Massins  are  going  to  play  here.  You  want  to  prolong 
and  beautify  my  life.  They  ! they  think  of  nothing  but  my 
death  ! ” 


96 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


“ God  forbids  us  to  hate ; but  if  that  is  true — oh,  I scorn 
them  ! ” cried  Ursule. 

“ Dinner  ! ” cried  La  Bougival,  from  the  top  of  the  steps 
which,  on  the  garden  side,  were  at  the  end  of  the  gallery. 

Ursule  and  the  doctor  were  eating  their  dessert  in  the 
pretty  dining-room,  painted  to  imitate  Chinese  lacquer,  which 
had  ruined  Levrault-Levrault,  when  the  justice  walked  in. 
The  doctor,  as  his  most  signal  mark  of  intimacy,  offered  him 
a cup  of  his  own  coffee,  a mixture  of  Mocha  with  Bourbon 
and  Martinique  berries,  roasted,  ground,  and  made  by  his 
own  hands  in  a silver  coffee-pot  of  the  kind  patented  by 
Chaptal. 

“ Well,  well,”  said  Bongrand,  putting  up  his  spectacles, 
and  looking  at  the  old  man  with  a sly  twinkle,  “ the  town  is 
by  the  ears ! Your  appearance  at  church  has  revolutionized 
your  relations.  You  are  going  to  leave  everything  to  the 
priests  and  to  the  poor  ! You  have  stirred  them  up,  and  they 
are  astir  ! Oh  ! I saw  their  first  commotion  on  the  church 
square ; they  were  as  fussy  as  a nest  of  ants  robbed  of  their 
eggs.” 

“ What  did  I tell  you,  Ursule?  ” exclaimed  the  old  man. 
“ Even  at  the  risk  of  grieving  you,  my  child,  am  I not  bound 
to  teach  you  to  know  the  world,  and  to  put  you  on  your  guard 
against  undeserved  enmity.” 

“ I wanted  to  say  a few  words  to  you  on  that  subject,”  said 
Bongrand,  seizing  the  opportunity  of  speaking  to  his  old 
friend  about  Ursule’ s future  prospects. 

The  doctor  put  a black  velvet  cap  on  his  white  head,  and 
the  justice  kept  on  his  hat  as  a protection  against  the  dew, 
and  they  walked  together  up  and  down  the  terrace,  talking 
over  the  means  of  securing  to  Ursule  the  little  fortune  the 
doctor  proposed  to  leave  her.  Bongrand  knew  the  opinion 
of  Dionis  as  to  the  invalidity  of  any  will  made  by  the  doctor 
yn  Ursule’s  favor,  for  Nemours  was  too  inquisitive  as  to  the 
Minoret  inheritance  for  this  question  not  to  have  been  dis- 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


97 


cussed  by  the  wise  heads  of  the  town.  He  himself  had 
decided  that  Ursule  was  an  alien  in  blood  as  regarded  Doctor 
Minoret ; but  he  was  fully  aware  that  the  spirit  of  the  law 
was  adverse  to  the  recognition  of  illegitimate  offspring  as  mem- 
bers of  the  family.  The  framers  of  the  Code  had  only  antici- 
pated the  weakness  of  fathers  and  mothers  for  their  natural 
children  ; it  had  not  been  supposed  that  uncles  or  aunts 
might  have  such  tender  feelings  for  an  illegitimate  relation  as 
to  favor  his  descendants.  There  was  evidently  an  omission 
in  the  law. 

“ In  any  other  country,”  said  he  to  the  doctor,  after  set- 
ting forth  the  state  of  the  law  which  Goupil,  Dionis,  and 
Desire  had  just  explained  to  the  heirs,  “ Ursule  would  have 
nothing  to  fear.  She  is  a legitimate  child,  and  her  father’s 
disabilities  ought  only  to  affect  the  money  left  by  Valentin 
Mirouet,  your  father-in-law.  But  in  France  the  bench  is 
unluckily  very  clever  and  very  logical ; it  insists  on  the  spirit 
of  the  law.  Pleaders  will  talk  of  morality,  and  prove  that 
the  omission  in  the  Code  arises  from  the  single-mindedness 
of  the  framers,  who  never  foresaw  such  a case,  but  who  never- 
theless established  a principle.  A lawsuit  would  be  lengthy 
and  costly.  With  Zelie  on  the  other  side  it  would  be  carried 
to  the  court  of  appeal ; and  I cannot  be  sure  that  I should 
be  still  living  when  the  case  was  tried.” 

* ‘ The  strongest  case  is  not  certain  to  stand,”  cried  the 
doctor.  “ I can  see  the  documents  on  the  subject  already: 

4 To  what  degree  of  relationship  ought  the  disabilities  of 
natural  children  in  the  matter  of  inheritance  to  extend  ? ’ and 
the  glory  of  a clever  lawyer  is  to  gain  a rotten  suit.” 

“On  my  honor,”  said  Bongrand,  “I  would  not  take  it 
upon  myself  to  assert  that  the  judges  would  not  widen  the 
interpretation  of  the  law  so  as  to  extend  its  protection  of 
marriage,  which  is  the  everlasting  foundation  of  society.” 

Without  explaining  his  intentions,  the  doctor  rejected  the 
idea  of  a trust.  But  as  to  the  notion  of  marrying  her,  which 
7 


98  URSULE  MIROUET. 

Bongrand  suggested  as  a means  of  securing  her  his  for- 
tune— 

“Poor  little  thing!  ” cried  the  doctor.  “I  may  live  fif- 
teen years  yet.  What  would  become  of  her?” 

“ Well,  then,  what  do  you  propose?”  said  Bongrand. 

“We  must  think  about  it.  I shall  see,”  replied  the  old 
doctor,  evidently  at  a loss  for  an  answer. 

At  this  instant  Ursule  came  to  tell  the  friends  that  Dionis 
wished  to  see  the  doctor. 

“ Dionis  already  ! ” exclaimed  Minoret,  looking  at  the  jus- 
tice. “Yes,”  he  said  to  Ursule  ; “let  him  be  shown  in.” 

“ I will  bet  my  spectacles  to  a brimstone  match  that  he  is 
your  heirs’  stalking-horse.  They  breakfasted  together  at  the 
posting-house,  and  something  has  been  plotted  there.” 

The  notary,  following  Ursule,  came  out  into  the  garden. 
After  the  usual  civilities  and  a few  commonplace  remarks, 
Dionis  begged  for  a moment’s  private  conversation.  Ursule 
and  Bongrand  went  into  the  drawing-room. 

“We  must  think  about  it!  I shall  see!  ” said  Bongrand 
to  himself,  echoing  the  doctor’s  last  words.  “ That  is  what 
clever  people  think ; then  death  overtakes  them,  and  they  leave 
those  who  are  dearest  to  them  in  the  greatest  difficulties.” 

The  distrust  a man  of  business  feels  of  a man  of  talent  is 
extraordinary.  He  cannot  admit  that  the  greater  includes  the 
less.  But  this  very  distrust,  perhaps,  implies  praise.  Seeing 
these  superior  minds  inhabiting  the  high  peaks  of  human 
thought,  men  of  business  do  not  believe  them  capable  of  de- 
scending to  the  infinitely  small  details  which,  like  interest  in 
the  worid  of  finance,  or  microscopic  creatures  in  natural  his- 
tory, at  last  accumulate  till  they  equal  the  capital,  or  consti- 
tute a world.  It  is  a mistake.  The  man  of  feeling  and  the 
man  of  genius  see  everything. 

Bongrand,  nettled  by  the  doctor’s  persistent  silence,  but 
urged,  no  doubt,  by  Ursule’s  interests,  which  he  feared  were 
compromised,  determined  to  protect  her  against  her  rivals. 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


99 


He  was  in  despair  at  not  knowing  what  was  going  on  between 
the  old  man  and  Dionis. 

“ However  pure-minded  Ursule  may  be,”  thought  he,  as  he 
looked  at  her,  “ there  is  one  point  on  which  young  girls  are 
wont  to  have  their  own  ideas  of  jurisprudence  and  morality. 
Let  us  try  ! ” “ The  Minoret-Levraults,”  said  he  to  Ursule,  as 
he  settled  his  spectacles,  “are  quite  capable  of  proposing  that 
you  should  marry  their  son.” 

The  poor  child  turned  pale.  She  had  been  too  well  brought 
up,  and  had  too  much  perfect  delicacy,  to  go  and  listen  to 
what  her  uncle  and  Dionis  were  saying ; but  after  a short 
deliberation  she  thought  she  might  go  into  the  room,  thinking 
that  if  she  were  in  the  way  her  godfather  would  make  her 
understand  it.  The  Chinese  summer-house,  which  was  the 
doctor’s  private  study,  had  the  shutters  of  the  glass  door  left 
open.  Ursule’s  idea  was  that  she  would  go  herself  to  close 
them.  She  apologized  for  leaving  the  lawyer  alone  in  the 
drawing-room  ; but  he  smiled  and  said — 

“ Do  so,  do  so.” 

Ursule  went  to  the  steps  leading  from  the  Chinese  summer- 
house down  to  the  garden,  and  there  she  stood  for  some  min- 
utes slowly  closing  the  Venetian  shutters  and  looking  at  the 
sunset.  Then  she  heard  this  answer  spoken  by  the  doctor  as 
he  came  towards  the  summer-house — 

“My  heirs  would  be  delighted  to  see  me  possessed  of  real 
estate  and  mortgages.  They  fancy  that  my  fortune  would  be 
much  more  safely  invested.  I can  guess  all  they  could  say; 
and  you,  perhaps,  are  their  representative.  But,  my  dear  sir, 
my  arrangements  are  unalterable.  My  heirs  will  have  the 
capital  of  the  fortune  I brought  here  with  me;  they  may 
accept  that  as  a certainty,  and  leave  me  in  peace.  If  either 
of  them  should  make  any  change  in  what  I believe  it  to  be 
my  duty  to  do  for  that  child”  (and  he  pointed  to  his  god- 
daughter), “ I will  come  back  from  the  other  world  to  torment 
him  ! So  Monsieur  Savinien  de  Portenduere  may  remain  in 


100 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


prison  if  his  release  depends  on  me,”  added  the  doctor.  “ I 
shall  not  sell  any  of  my  securities.” 

As  she  heard  the  last  words  of  this  speech,  Ursule  felt  the 
first,  the  only  grief  she  had  ever  known.  She  rested  her 
forehead  against  the  shutter,  and  clung  to  it  for  support. 

“Good  heavens!  what  ails  her?”  cried  the  old  doctor; 
“ she  is  colorless.  Such  emotion  just  after  dinner  might  kill 
her!” 

He  put  out  his  arm  to  hold  Ursule,  who  fell  almost  faint- 
ing. 

“Good-evening,  monsieur;  leave  me,”  he  said  to  the 
notary. 

He  carried  his  goddaughter  to  a huge  easy-chair,  dating 
from  Louis  XV.,  which  stood  in  his  study,  seized  a phial  of 
ether  from  his  medicine  store,  and  made  her  inhale  it. 

“ Go  and  take  my  place,  my  friend,”  said  he  to  Bongrand, 
who  was  alarmed  ; “I  must  stay  with  her.” 

The  justice  walked  to  the  gate  with  the  notary,  asking  him, 
but  without  any  show  of  eagerness,  “ What  has  come  over 
Ursule  ? ” 

“I  do  not  know,”  said  Monsieur  Dionis.  “She  was 
standing  on  the  steps  listening  to  us ; and  when  her  uncle  re- 
fused to  lend  the  necessary  sum  to  release  young  Portenduere, 
who  is  in  prison  for  debt — for  he  had  not  a Monsieur  Bon- 
grand to  defend  him  as  Monsieur  du  Rouvre  had — she  turned 
pale  and  tottered.  Does  she  love  him  ? Can  there  be ? ” 

“At  fifteen  ! ” said  Bongrand,  interrupting  Dionis. 

“ She  was  born  in  February,  1814.  In  four  months  she  will 
be  sixteen.” 

“ But  she  has  never  seen  her  neighbor,”  replied  the  justice. 
“ No,  it  is  just  an  attack.” 

“ An  attack  of  the  heart,”  said  the  notary. 

Dionis  was  much  delighted  by  his  discovery ; it  would 
avert  the  dreaded  marriage  by  which  the  doctor  might  have 
frustrated  the  hopes  of  his  heirs,  while  Bongrand  saw  his 


WHAT  AILS  YOU,  CRUEL  CHILD?”  HE  SAID , 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


101 


castles  in  the  air  in  ruins  ; be  had  long  dreamed  of  a marriage 
between  his  own  son  and  Ursule. 

“ If  the  poor  child  should  be  in  love  with  that  youth,  it 
would  be  unfortunate  for  her.  Madame  de  Portenduere  is  a 
Bretonne,  and  crazy  about  noble  birth,”  replied  the  justice, 
after  a pause. 

“ Happily — for  the  honor  of  the  Portendueres,”  said  the 
notary,  who  had  nearly  betrayed  himself. 

To  do  the  worthy  and  honorable  lawyer  full  justice,  it  must 
be  said  that,  on  his  way  from  the  gate  to  the  drawing-room, 
he  gave  up,  not  without  regret  for  his  son’s  loss,  the  hope  he 
had  cherished  of  one  day  calling  Ursule  his  daughter.  He 
intended  to  give  his  son  six  thousand  francs  a year  as  soon  as 
he  was  appointed  deputy  recorder ; and  if  the  doctor  would 
have  settled  a hundred  thousand  francs  on  Ursule,  the  young 
couple  should  have  been  patterns  of  a happy  household.  His 
Eugene  was  a loyal  and  accomplished  young  fellow.  Perhaps 
he  had  a little  over-praised  Eugene,  and  perhaps  old  Min- 
oret’s  suspicions  had  been  aroused  by  that. 

“ I will  fall  back  on  the  mayor’s  daughter,”  thought  Bon- 
grand.  “ But  Ursule  without  a penny  would  be  better  than 
Mademoiselle  Levrault-Cremiere  with  her  million.  Now  we 
must  see  what  can  be  done  to  get  Ursule  married  to  this 
young  Portenduere,  if,  in  fact,  she  loves  him.” 

After  closing  the  doors  on  the  side  next  the  library  and  the 
garden,  the  doctor  led  the  girl  to  the  window  that  looked 
over  the  river. 

“ What  ails  you,  cruel  child  ?”  he  said.  “ Your  life  is  my 
life.  Without  your  smile  what  would  become  of  me  ? ” 

“Savinien — in  prison!”  answered  she,  and  with  these 
words  a torrent  of  tears  burst  from  her  eyes,  and  she  began  to 
sob. 

“ Now  all  will  be  well,”  said  the  old  man  to  himself,  as  he 
stood  feeling  her  pulse  with  a father’s  anxiety.  “ Alas  ! she 
has  all  my  poor  wife’s  nervous  sensibility  ! ” he  thought ; and 


102 


URSULE  MIROUET 


he  brought  a stethoscope,  which  he  placed  over  Ursule’s  heart 
and  listened.  “ Well,  there  is  nothing  wrong  there,”  he  said 
to  himself.  “ I did  not  know,  my  sweetheart,  that  you  loved 
him  so  much  already,”  he  went  on,  as  he  looked  at  her. 
“ But  think  to  me  as  if  to  yourself,  and  tell  me  all  that  has 
occurred  between  you.” 

“ I do  not  love  him,  godfather ; we  have  never  spoken  to 
each  other,”  she  sobbed  out;  “but  to  know  that  the  poor 
young  man  is  in  prison,  and  to  hear  that  you,  who  are  so 
kind,  refuse  sternly  to  help  him  out ” 

“ Ursule,  my  sweet  little  angel,  if  you  do  not  love  him, 
why  have  you  put  a red  dot  to  the  day  of  Saint  Savinien  as 
you  have  to  that  of  Saint  Denis  ? Come,  tell  me  all  the 
smallest  incidents  of  this  love  affair.” 

Ursule  colored,  and  swallowed  down  a few  tears;  for  a 
minute  there  was  silence  between  them. 

“ Are  you  afraid  of  your  father,  of  your  friend,  your  mother, 
your  physician,  your  godfather,  whose  heart  has  within  these 
few  days  become  even  more  soft  and  loving  than  it  was?” 

“Well,  then,  dear  godfather,”  said  she,  “ I will  open  my 
soul  to  you.  In  the  month  of  May,  Monsieur  Savinien  came 
to  see  his  mother.  Till  that  visit  I had  never  paid  the  least 
attention  to  him.  When  he  went  away  to  live  in  Paris  I was 
a little  child,  and  I saw  no  difference,  I swear  to  you,  between 
a young  man — and  others  like  you,  excepting  that  I loved 
you,  and  never  imagined  I could  love  any  one  better,  whoever 
he  might  be.  Monsieur  Savinien  arrived  by  the  mail-coach 
the  night  before  his  mother’s  birthday  without  our  knowing 
of  it.  At  seven  next  morning,  after  saying  my  prayers,  as  I 
opened  the  window  to  air  my  room,  I saw  the  open  windows 
of  Monsieur  Savinien’s  room,  and  Monsieur  Savinien  himself 
in  his  dressing-gown  engaged  in  shaving  himself,  and  doing 
everything  with  such  grace  in  his  movements — in  short,  I 
thought  him  very  nice.  He  combed  his  black  mustache, 
and  the  little  tuft  on  his  chin,  and  I saw  his  throat  white  and 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


103 


round.  Oh  ! must  I say  it  all  ? I noticed  that  his  fresh  neck, 
and  his  face,  and  his  beautiful  black  hair  were  quite  unlike 
yours  when  I see  you  shaving  yourself ; and  something  rose 
up  in  me  from  I know  not  where — like  a mist  rushing  in 
waves  to  my  heart,  to  my  throat,  to  my  head,  and  so  violently 
that  I had  to  sit  down.  I could  not  stand  ; I was  trembling. 
But  I longed  so  much  to  see  him  that  I pulled  myself  up 
on  tiptoe ; then  he  saw  me,  and  for  fun  he  blew  me  a kiss 
from  the  ends  of  his  fingers,  and ” 

“ And ” 

“ And  I hid  myself,”  she  went  on,  “ equally  ashamed  and 
happy,  without  understanding  why  I was  ashamed  of  my 
happiness.  This  feeling,  which  bewildered  my  soul  while 
giving  it  an  unexplained  sense  of  power,  came  over  me  each 
time  that  I saw  his  young  face  again  in  fancy.  Indeed,  I 
liked  to  have  that  feeling,  though  it  was  so  painfully  agitating. 
As  I went  to  mass  an  irresistible  force  made  me  look  at  Mon- 
sieur Savinien  giving  his  arm  to  his  mother,  and  his  way  of 
walking,  and  his  clothes — everything  about  him,  to  the  sound 
of  his  boots  on  the  pavement,  seemed  so  pretty.  The  least 
thing  about  him,  his  hand  in  its  fine  kid  glove,  had  a sort  of 
charm  for  me.  And  yet  I was  strong  enough  not  to  think  of 
him  during  the  service.  As  we  came  out  I waited  in  the 
church  to  let  Madame  de  Portenduere  go  first,  so  as  to  walk 
behind  him.  I cannot  tell  you  how  much  I was  interested  in 
all  these  little  things.  On  coming  in,  as  I turned  round  to 
shut  the  gate ” 

“ And  La  Bougival  ? ” asked  the  doctor. 

“Oh,  I had  let  her  go  to  the  kitchen,”  said  Ursule  inno- 
cently. “ So  I could,  of  course,  see  Monsieur  Savinien  stand- 
ing squarely  to  look  at  me.  Oh,  dear  godfather,  I felt  so 
proud  as  I fancied  I saw  in  his  eyes  a sort  of  surprise  and 
admiration,  and  I do  not  know  what  I would  not  have  done 
to  give  him  cause  to  look  at  me.  I felt  as  though  henceforth 
I ought  to  think  of  nothing  but  of  how  to  please  him.  His 


104 


URSULE  MIROUET 


look  is  now  the  sweetest  reward  of  all  I can  do  right.  From 
that  moment  I have  thought  of  him  incessantly  and  in  spite 
of  myself.  Monsieur  Savinien  went  away  that  evening,  and 
I have  not  seen  him  since  ; the  Rue  des  Bourgeois  has  seemed 
quite  empty,  and  he  has  taken  my  heart  away  with  him,  as  it 
were,  without  knowing  it.” 

“ And  that  is  all  ? ” asked  the  doctor. 

“Yes,  all,  godfather,”  she  said  with  a sigh,  in  which 
regret  at  having  no  more  to  tell  was  lost  in  the  grief  of  the 
moment. 

“ My  dear  child,”  said  the  old  man,  drawing  Ursule  on  to 
his  knee,  “you  will  soon  be  sixteen  years  old,  and  your  life 
as  a woman  will  begin.  You  are  now  between  your  blissful 
childhood,  which  is  coming  to  an  end,  and  the  agitations  of 
love,  which  will  make  life  stormy  for  you,  for  you  have  the 
highly  strung  nerves  of  an  excessively  sensitive  nature.  It  is 
love,  my  child,  that  has  come  upon  you,”  said  the  old  man, 
with  a look  of  deep  pathos,  “ love  in  its  holy  simplicity,  love 
as  it  ought  to  be,  involuntary  and  swift,  coming  like  a thief 
that  takes  all — yes,  all ! And  I was  prepared  for  it.  I have 
studied  women  carefully,  and  I know  that,  though  with  most 
of  them  love  does  not  wholly  possess  them  till  after  many 
proofs,  many  miracles  of  affection,  if  such  as  these  do  not 
speak  nor  yield  till  they  are  conquered,  there  are  others  who, 
under  the  sway  of  a sympathy  which  can  now  be  accounted 
for  by  magnetic  fluids,  are  vanquished  in  a moment.  I can 
tell  you  now : as  soon  as  I saw  the  lovely  woman  who  bore 
your  name,  I felt  that  I should  love  her  alone  and  faithfully 
without  knowing  whether  in  our  characters  or  our  persons  we 
should  prove  suitable.  Is  there  a second-sight  in  love  ? How 
can  the  question  be  answered,  when  we  see  so  many  unions, 
which  have  been  sanctioned  by  such  a sacred  contract,  de- 
stroyed afterwards,  and  giving  rise  to  almost  eternal  hatred 
and  intense  aversion  ? The  senses  may  be  in  affinity  while 
minds  are  discordant,  and  some  persons  perhaps  live  more  by 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


105 


the  mind  than  by  the  senses.  On  the  other  hand,  characters 
are  often  suited  in  persons  who  cannot  please  each  other. 

“These  two  opposite  phenomena,  which  would  account  for 
many  catastrophes,  demonstrate  the  wisdom  of  the  law  which 
leaves  to  parents  supreme  control  over  the  marriage  of  their 
children  ; for  a young  girl  is  often  the  dupe  of  one  of  these  two 
hallucinations.  And,  indeed,  I do  not  blame  you.  The  feel- 
ings you  experience,  the  emotional  impulse  which  rushes  from 
its  hitherto  unknown  focus  to  your  heart  and  to  your  brain, 
the  joy  with  which  you  think  of  Savinien,  are  all  quite  natural. 
But,  my  adored  child,  as  our  good  Abbe  Chaperon  will  have 
told  you,  society  demands  the  sacrifice  of  many  natural  im- 
pulses. The  destiny  of  men  is  one  thing,  the  destiny  of 
women  another.  It  was  in  my  power  to  choose  Ursule  Mirouet 
for  my  wife,  to  go  to  her  and  tell  her  how  much  I loved  her, 
whereas  a young  girl  is  false  to  her  virtue  when  she  solicits  the 
love  of  the  man  she  loves ; a woman  is  not,  as  we  are,  at 
liberty  to  follow  up  in  broad  daylight  the  fulfillment  of  her 
hopes.  Thus,  modesty  is  in  women,  and  especially  in  you, 
the  insurmountable  barrier  which  guards  the  secrets  of  your 
heart.  Your  hesitation  to  confide  even  to  me  what  your  first 
emotions  had  been  shows  me  plainly  that  you  would  suffer 
the  worst  torments  rather  than  confess  to  Savinien ” 

“ Oh,  yes  ! ” she  exclaimed. 

“ But,  my  child,  you  must  do  more.  You  must  repress  these 
impulses  of  your  heart,  you  must  forget  them.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because,  my  little  darling,  you  must  love  no  man  but 
him  who  will  be  your  husband  ; and  even  if  Monsieur  Savinien 
de  Portenduere  should  love  you ” 

“I  had  not  thought  of  such  a thing.” 

“Listen  to  me.  Even  if  he  should  love  you,  even  if  his 
mother  were  to  ask  me  to  give  him  your  hand,  I would  not 
consent  to  the  marriage  till  I had  subjected  Savinien  to  a long 
and  mature  course  of  proof.  His  recent  conduct  has  placed 


106 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


him  under  a cloud  in  every  good  family,  and  raised  such 
barriers  between  him  and  any  young  girl  of  fortune  as  it  will 
be  hard  to  break  down.” 

A heavenly  smile  checked  Ursule’s  tears,  as  she  said, 
“ Misfortune  has  its  good  uses  ! ” 

The  doctor  found  nothing  to  say  to  her  artlessness. 

“ What  has  he  done,  godfather?  ” she  inquired. 

“ In  two  years,  my  darling,  he  has  run  into  debt  in  Paris  to 
the  sum  of  a hundred  and  twenty  thousand  francs  ! He  has 
been  so  clumsy  as  to  let  himself  be  taken  and  imprisoned  at 
Sainte-Pelagie,  a blunder  which  disgraces  a young  man  for 
ever  in  these  days.  A spendthrift  who  can  bring  his  mother 
to  grief  and  penury  would  kill  his  wife  with  despair,  as  your 
poor  father  did.” 

“ Do  you  think  he  might  amend  his  ways  ? ” she  asked. 

“ If  his  mother  pays  his  debts,  he  will  be  left  without  a 
penny,  and  I know  no  harder  punishment  for  a nobleman  than 
to  be  penniless.” 

This  reply  made  Ursule  thoughtful ; she  wiped  away  her 
tears,  and  said  to  her  godfather — 

“ If  you  can  save  him,  do  so,  godfather.  Such  a service 
will  give  you  the  right  to  admonish  him  ; you  will  remon- 
strate with  him ” 

“And  then,”  said  the  doctor,  mimicking  her  tone,  “he 
may  perhaps  come  here,  and  the  old  lady  too,  and  we  shall 
see  them,  and ” 

“At  this  moment  I am  thinking  only  of  him,”  replied 
Ursule,  coloring. 

“Think  of  him  no  more,  my  poor  child.  It  is  madness,” 
said  the  doctor  gravely.  “ Never  would  Madame  de  Porten- 
duere— a Kergarouet — if  she  had  but  three  hundred  francs  a 
year  to  live  on,  consent  to  see  the  Vicomte  Savinien  de 
Portenduere,  grand-nephew  of  the  late  Comte  de  Portenduere, 
lieutenant-general  of  the  King’s  naval  forces,  and  son  of  the 
Vicomte  de  Portenduere,  ship’s  captain,  married  to — whom? 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


107 


Ursule  Mirouet,  the  daughter  of  a regimental  bandmaster, 
without  a fortune ; and  whose  father — now  is  the  time  to  tell 
you — was  the  bastard  son  of  an  organist,  my  father-in-law.” 

“ Yes,  godfather,  you  are  right.  We  are  equals  only  in 
the  eyes  of  God.  I will  think  of  him  no  more — except  in 
my  prayers  ! ” she  exclaimed  through  the  sobs  with  which  she 
received  this  information.  “ Give  him  all  you  intended  to 
leave  me.  What  can  a poor  girl  like  me  want  of  money  ! — 
and  he,  in  prison  ! ” 

“Lay  all  your  distresses  before  God,  and  He  perhaps  will 
intervene  to  help  us.” 

For  some  minutes  silence  reigned.  When  Ursule,  who 
dared  not  look  at  her  godfather,  presently  raised  her  eyes  to 
his  face,  she  was  deeply  moved  by  seeing  tears  flowing  down 
his  withered  cheeks.  The  tears  of  an  old  man  are  as  terrible 
as  those  of  a child  are  natural. 

“What,  oh,  what  is  the  matter  with  you?”  she  cried, 
falling  at  his  feet  and  kissing  his  hands.  “ Do  you  not 
trust  me?  ” 

“ I,  who  only  wish  to  satisfy  your  every  wish,  am  compelled 
to  cause  the  first  great  sorrow  of  your  life  ! I am  as  much 
grieved  as  you  are  ! I never  shed  a tear  but  when  my  children 
died  and  my  Ursule.  There,  I will  do  anything  you  like  ! ” 
he  exclaimed. 

Ursule,  through  her  tears,  gave  her  godfather  a look  that 
was  like  a flash  of  light.  She  smiled. 

“ Now,  come  into  the  drawing-room  and  contrive  to  keep 
your  own  counsel  about  all  this,  my  child,”  said  the  doctor, 
and  he  went  out,  leaving  her  alone  in  the  study. 

The  fatherly  soul  was  so  weak  before  this  smile  that  he  was 
about  to  speak  a word  of  hope  which  might  have  deluded  his 
goddaughter. 

At  this  moment  Madame  de  Portenduere,  alone  with  the 
cur6  in  her  chilly  little  ground-floor  drawing-room,  had  just 


108 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


finished  confiding  her  woes  to  the  good  priest,  her  only 
friend.  She  held  in  her  hand  some  letters  which  the  abbe 
had  returned  to  her  after  reading  them,  and  which  had  been 
the  crown  of  her  misery.  Seated  in  an  armchair,  on  one  side 
of  the  square  table  covered  with  the  remains  of  the  dessert, 
the  old  lady  looked  at  the  cure,  who,  on  the  other,  huddled 
into  a deep  chair,  was  stroking  his  chin  with  that  strange 
gesture  peculiar  to  the  stage  valet,  to  mathematicians,  and 
priests,  as  betraying  meditation  on  a problem  difficult  of 
solution. 

The  little  room,  lighted  by  two  windows  looking  on  the 
street,  and  lined  with  wainscoting  painted  gray,  was  so  damp 
that  the  lower  panels  displayed  the  geometrical  crackle  of  de- 
caying wood  when  it  is  no  longer  held  together  by  paint. 
The  floor,  of  red  tiles  rubbed  smooth  by  the  lady’s  only  ser- 
vant, made  little  round  hempen  mats  a necessity  in  front  of 
each  chair,  and  on  one  of  these  mats  were  the  abbe’s  feet. 
The  curtains,  of  light-green  flowered  damask,  were  drawn, 
and  the  shutters  closed.  Two  wax-candles  lighted  the  table ; 
the  rest  of  the  room  was  half-dark.  Need  it  be  said  that 
between  the  windows  a fine  pastel  by  Latour  showed  the  por- 
trait of  the  famous  Admiral  de  Portenduere,  the  rival  of  Suf- 
fren,  of  Kergarouet,  of  Guichen,  of  Simeuse  ? On  the  wain- 
scot opposite  the  chimney  might  be  seen  the  Vicomte  de  Por- 
tenduere and  the  old  lady’s  mother,  a Kergarouet-Ploegat. 

Savinien,  then,  was  great-nephew  to  Vice-Admiral  Ker- 
garouSt  and  cousin  to  the  Comte  de  Portenduere,  the  admi- 
ral’s grandson,  both  of  them  very  rich.  The  vice-admiral 
lived  in  Paris,  and  the  Comte  de  Portenduere  at  his  chateau 
of  the  same  name  in  Dauphine.  The  Count,  his  cousin,  rep- 
resented the  elder  branch,  and  Savinien  was  the  only  scion 
of  the  younger  branch  of  the  Portendueres. 

The  Count,  a man  of  past  forty,  married  to  a rich  wife,  had 
three  children.  His  fortune,  augmented  several  times  by  in- 
heritance, brought  him  in,  it  was  said,  sixty  thousand  francs  a 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


109 


year.  He  represented  the  department  of  the  Isere  as  deputy, 
spending  the  winter  in  Paris,  where  he  had  repurchased  the 
mansion  of  the  Portendueres  with  the  indemnity  paid  him 
under  Villele’s  act.  The  vice-admiral  had  lately  married  his 
niece,*  Mademoiselle  de  Fontaine,  solely  to  settle  his  fortune 
on  her.  Thus  the  young  Vicomte’s  errors  had  perhaps  de- 
prived him  of  the  interest  of  two  powerful  friends. 

Savinien,  young  and  handsome,  if  he  had  entered  the  navy, 
with  his  name  and  the  interest  of  an  admiral  and  of  a deputy 
to  back  him,  might  perhaps  at  three-and-twenty  have  been 
already  first-lieutenant ; but  his  mother,  averse  to  seeing  her 
only  son  engage  in  a military  career,  had  had  him  educated 
at  Nemours  by  one  of  the  Abbe  Chaperon’s  curates,  and  had 
flattered  herself  that  she  might  keep  her  son  at  her  side  till  her 
death.  She  had  hoped  to  marry  him  very  prudently  to  a 
demoiselle  d’Aiglemont,  with  twelve  thousand  francs  a year ; 
the  name  of  Portenduere,  and  the  farm-lands  of  Bordieres, 
justifying  his  pretensions  to  her  hand.  This  moderate  but 
judicious  scheme,  which  might  have  re-established  the  family 
in  another  generation,  had  been  frustrated  by  events.  The 
d’Aiglemonts  were  now  ruined,  and  one  of  their  daughters, 
Helene,  the  eldest,  had  vanished  without  any  explanation 
being  offered  by  the  family. 

The  tedium  of  a life  devoid  of  outdoor  interests,  of  pur- 
pose, and  of  action,  with  nothing  to  support  it  but  the  love  of 
a son  for  his  mother,  so  wearied  Savinien  that  he  burst  his 
bonds,  light  as  they  were,  and  vowed  he  would  never  live  in 
a country  town ; discovering,  somewhat  late,  that  his  future 
did  not  lie  in  the  Rue  des  Bourgeois.  So  at  one-and-twenty 
he  left  his  mother  to  introduce  himself  to  his  relations,  and 
try  his  fortune  in  Paris. 

The  contrast  between  life  at  Nemours  and  life  in  the  capital 
could  not  fail  to  be  fatal  to  a youth  of  one-and-twenty,  per- 
fectly free,  with  no  one  to  contradict  him,  of  course  greedy 


* See  •'*  Le  Bal  de  Sceaux.” 


110 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


for  pleasure,  and  to  whom  the  name  of  Portenduere  and  the 
wealth  of  his  connections  opened  every  drawing-room.  Con- 
vinced that  his  mother  had  somewhere  stored  the  savings  of 
twenty  years,  Savinien  had  soon  squandered  the  six  thousand 
francs  she  had  given  him  to  spend  in  Paris.  This  sum  did 
not  defray  the  expenses  of  the  first  six  months,  and  by  that 
time  he  owed  twice  as  much  to  his  lodging-keeper,  his  tailor, 
his  bootmaker,  to  a man  from  whom  he  hired  carriages  and 
horses,  to  a jeweler,  in  short,  to  all  the  tradespeople  who 
supply  the  luxury  of  youth.  He  had  hardly  achieved  making 
himself  known,  had  hardly  learned  to  speak,  to  enter  a room, 
to  wear  and  choose  a waistcoat,  to  order  his  clothes  and  tie 
his  cravat,  when  he  found  himself  possessed  of  thirty  thousand 
francs  of  debts,  and  had  not  yet  gotten  farther  than  trying  to 
find  an  insinuating  phrase  in  which  to  declare  his  passion  to 
Madame  de  Serizy,  the  sister  of  the  Marquis  de  Ronquerolles, 
an  elegant  woman  still,  whose  youth  had  shone  through  the 
empire. 

“And  how  did  you  fellows  get  out  of  the  scrape?”  said 
Savinien  one  day  after  breakfast  to  some  young  men  of  fashion 
with  whom  he  was  intimate,  as  even  at  this  day  young  men 
become  intimate  when  their  pretensions  in  all  respects  tend  to 
the  same  ends,  and  when  they  proclaim  an  impossible  equality. 
“ You  were  no  richer  than  I ; you  live  on  without  a care,  you 
support  yourselves,  and  I am  already  in  debt.” 

“We  all  began  in  the  same  way,”  they  replied,  with  L 
laugh — Rastignac,  Lucien  de  Rubempre,  Maxime  de  Trailles, 
Emile  Blondet,  the  dandies  of  that  day. 

“ If  de  Marsay  was  rich  at  beginning  life,  it  was  a mere 
chance  ! ” said  their  host,  a parvenu  named  Finot,  who  tried 
to  rub  elbows  with  these  young  men.  “And  if  he  had  been 
any  one  else,”  he  added,  bowing  to  Marsay,  “his  fortune 
might  have  been  his  ruin.” 

“You  have  hit  the  word,”  said  Maxime  de  Trailles. 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM.  Ill 

“And  the  idea  too,”  replied  Rastignac. 

“My  dear  boy,”  said  de  Marsay  gravely  to  Savinien, 
“ debts  are  the  sleeping  partners  of  experience.  A good 
college  education,  with  masters  for  the  ornamental  and  the 
useful,  from  which  you  learn  nothing,  costs  sixty  thousand 
francs.  If  the  education  the  world  gives  you  costs  double,  it 
teaches  you  life,  business,  and  politics;  to  know  men  and 
sometimes  women.” 

Blondet  capped  the  lecture  by  a parody  on  a line  of  La 
Fontaine’s — 

“ The  world  sells  us  dear  what  we  fancy  it  gives!  ” 

But  instead  of  reflecting  on  the  good  sense  in  what  the 
most  skilled  pilots  of  the  Paris  shoals  had  said,  Savinien  took 
it  all  as  a jest. 

“ Take  care,  my  dear  fellow,”  said  de  Marsay,  “ you  have 
a fine  name,  and  if  you  cannot  acquire  the  fortune  your  name 
demands  you  may  end  your  days  as  quartermaster  to  a cavalry 
regiment, 

“ ‘ For  nobler  heads  than  thine  have  had  a fall,’  ** 

he  added,  quoting  Corneille,  and  taking  Savinien’s  arm.  “ It 
is  about  six  years,”  he  went  on,  “ since  a certain  young  Comte 
d’Esgrignon  came  among  us,  who  did  not  live  more  than  two 
years  in  the  paradise  of  fashion  ! Alas,  his  career  was  as  that 
of  the  sky-rocket.  He  rose  as  high  as  the  Duchesse  de  Mau- 
frigneuse,  and  he  fell  into  his  native  town,  where  he  is  now 
expiating  his  sins  between  a snuffling  old  father  and  rubbers 
of  whist  at  two  sous  a point.  Go,  then,  and  frankly  explain 
your  position  to  Madame  de  Serizy ; do  not  be  ashamed ; 
she  will  be  of  great  use  to  you  ; whereas,  if  you  play  a charade 
of  first  love,  she  will  pose  as  a Raphael  Madonna,  play  inno- 
cent games,  and  send  you  a most  expensive  excursion  round 
the  ‘ Pays  du  Tendre  ’ ” (Country  of  Sentiment). 

Savinien,  still  too  young  and  too  sensitive  to  a gentleman’s 


112 


UR  SUL E MI ROUE  T. 


honor,  dared  not  confess  the  state  of  his  fortunes  to  Madame  de 
Serizy.  Madame  de  Portenduere,  at  a moment  when  her  son 
knew  not  which  way  to  turn,  sent  him  twenty  thousand  francs, 
all  she  had,  in  answer  to  a letter  in  which  Savinien,  taught  by 
his  companions  the  tactics  of  assault  by  sons  on  their  parents’ 
strong-boxes,  hinted  at  bills  to  meet,  and  the  disgrace  of  dis- 
honoring his  endorsements.  With  this  help,  he  got  on  to 
the  end  of  the  first  year.  During  the  second  year,  as  a cap- 
tive at  the  wheels  of  Madame  de  Serizy’s  car — for  she  had 
taken  a serious  fancy  to  him,  and  was  teaching  him  his  paces 
— -he  availed  himself  of  the  perilous  aid  of  money-lenders.  A 
deputy,  named  des  Lupeaulx,  who  was  his  friend,  and  a friend 
of  his  cousin  de  Portenduere,  introduced  him  one  miserable 
day  to  Gobseck,  to  Gigonnet,  and  to  Palma,  who,  being  duly 
and  fully  informed  as  to  the  value  of  his  mother’s  property, 
made  things  easy  for  him.  The  money-lenders,  by  the  delu- 
sive aid  of  renewals,  gave  him  a happy  life  for  about  eighteen 
months  more.  Without  daring  to  neglect  Madame  de  Serizy, 
the  hapless  boy  fell  desperately  in  love  with  the  young  Com- 
tesse  de  Kergarouet,  a prude,  as  all  young  women  are  who  are 
waiting  for  the  death  of  an  old  husband,  and  who  are  clever 
enough  to  save  up  their  virtue  for  a second  marriage.  Savi- 
nien, unable  to  understand  that  virtue  based  on  reasons  is 
invincible,  paid  his  court  to  Emilie  de  Kergarouet  with  all 
the  display  of  a rich  man  ; he  was  never  missing  from  a ball 
or  a theatre  if  she  was  to  be  there. 

“ My  boy,  you  have  not  enough  powder  to  blow  up  that 
rock  ! ” de  Marsay  said  to  him  one  evening,  with  a laugh. 

This  young  prince  of  Paris  fashion  vainly  attempted,  out  of 
commiseration,  to  make  the  lad  understand  Emilie  de  Fon- 
taine’s character,  only  the  gloomy  light  of  disaster  and  the 
darkness  of  a prison  could  enlighten  Savinien.  A bill  of 
exchange,  rashly  assigned  to  a jeweler  in  collusion  with  the 
money-lenders,  who  did  not  choose  to  take  the  odium  of 
arresting  him,  led  to  Savinien  de  Portenduere  being  con- 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


113 


signed  to  Sainte-Pelagie,  unknown  to  his  friends.  As  soon 
as  the  news  was  known  to  Rastignac,  de  Marsay,  and  Lucien 
de  Rubempre,  they  all  three  went  to  see  Savinien,  and,  find- 
ing him  absolutely  destitute,  each  offered  him  a note  for  a 
thousand  francs.  His  own  servant,  bribed  by  two  creditors, 
led  them  to  the  apartment  where  Savinien  lodged  in  secret, 
and  everything  had  been  seized  but  the  clothes  and  a few 
trinkets  he  had  on  him. 

The  three  young  men,  fortified  by  a capital  dinner,  while 
they  drank  some  sherry  that  de  Marsay  had  brought  with  him, 
catechised  Savinien  as  to  the  state  of  his  affairs,  ostensibly  to 
make  arrangements  for  the  future,  but  in  reality,  no  doubt,  to 
pass  sentence  on  him. 

‘‘When  your  name  is  Savinien  de  Portenduere,”  cried 
Rastignac,  “ when  you  have  a future  peer  of  France  for  your 
cousin  and  the  Admiral  de  Kergarouet  for  your  grand-uncle, 
if  you  are  such  a blunderer  as  to  let  yourself  be  sent  to  Sainte- 
Pelagie,  at  any  rate  you  must  get  out  of  it,  my  dear  fellow  ! ” 

“Why  did  you  say  nothing  about  it  to  me?”  cried  de 
Marsay.  “My  traveling  carriage  was  at  your  orders,  ten 
thousand  francs,  and  letters  for  Germany.  We  know  Gob- 
seck  and  Gigonnet,  and  the  other  beasts  of  prey ; we  would 
have  brought  them  to  terms.  To  begin  with,  what  has  brought 
you  to  drink  of  these  poisoned  waters  ? ” asked  de  Marsay. 

“ Des  Lupeaulx.” 

The  three  young  men  looked  at  each  other,  communicating 
the  same  thought,  a suspicion,  but  without  speaking  it. 

“Explain  your  resources;  show  us  your  hand,”  said  de 
Marsay. 

When  Savinien  had  described  his  mother  and  her  cap  and 
bows,  her  little  house  with  its  three  windows  fronting  on  the 
Rue  des  Bourgeois,  with  no  garden  but  a yard  with  a well,, 
and  an  outhouse  to  hold  fire-logs ; when  he  had  estimated  the 
value  of  this  dwelling,  built  of  rough  stone  set  in  reddish 
cement,  and  that  of  the  farm  of  Bordieres,  the  three  dandies 
8 


114 


UR  SUL  E MIROUET. 


exchanged  glances,  and,  with  a look  of  deep  meaning,  quoted 
the  word  spoken  by  the  abbe  in  Alfred  de  Musset’s  play  “ Les 
Marrons  du  feu” — for  his  “Contes  d’Espagne”  had  just 
come  out — 

“ Dismal ! ” 

“Your  mother  would  pay  in  response  to  a skillful  letter?” 
said  Rastignac. 

“Yes;  but  after ?”  cried  de  Marsay. 

“If  you  had  only  been  put  into  the  hackney  coach,”  said 
Lucien,  “the  King’s  government  would  give  you  a berth  in 
a foreign  mission ; but  Sainte-Pelagie  is  not  the  anteroom  to 
an  embassy.” 

“You  are  not  up  to  the  mark  for  life  in  Paris/’  said  Ras- 
tignac. 

“Let’s  see,”  de  Marsay  began,  looking  at  Savinien  from 
head  to  foot  as  a horse-dealer  examines  a horse.  “You  have 
good  blue  eyes  well  set,  you  have  a well-shaped  white  fore- 
head, splendid  black  hair,  a neat  little  mustache  which  looks 
well  on  your  pale  skin,  and  a slight  figure ; your  foot  bespeaks 
a good  breed,  shoulders  and  chest  strong,  and  not  too  like  a 
coal-heaver’s.  I should  call  you  a good  specimen  of  a dark 
man.  Your  face  is  in  the  style  of  that  of  Louis  XIII.;  not 
much  color,  and  a well-shaped  nose ; and  you  have  besides 
the  thing  that  appeals  to  woman,  the  indescribable  something 
of  which  men  themselves  are  never  conscious,  which  is  in  the 
air,  the  walk,  the  tone  of  voice,  the  flash  of  the  eyes,  the 
gesture,  a hundred  little  things  which  women  see,  and  to 
which  they  attach  a meaning  which  eludes  us.  You  do  not 
know  yourself,  my  dear  fellow.  With  a little  style,  in  six 
months  you  could  fascinate  an  Englishwoman  with  a hundred 
thousand  francs,  especially  if  you  use  the  title  of  Vicomte  de 
Portenduere  to  which  you  have  a right.  My  charming  mother- 
in-law,  Lady  Dudley,  who  has  not  her  equal  for  skewering 
two  hearts  together,  will  discover  the  damsel  for  you  in  some 
alluvial  district  of  Great  Britain.  But  then  you  must  be  able 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


115 


to  stave  off  your  debts  for  ninety  days,  and  know  how  to  do 
it  by  some  skillful  stroke  of  high  finance.  Oh  ! why  did  you 
say  nothing  of  it  to  me  ? At  Baden  these  money-lenders 
would  have  respected  you,  have  served  you  perhaps;  but  after 
clapping  you  in  prison  they  despise  you.  The  money-lender 
is  like  society,  like  the  mob — on  his  knees  to  a man  who  is 
clever  enough  to  take  advantage  of  him,  and  pitiless  to  a lamb. 
In  the  eyes  of  a certain  set,  Sainte-Pelagie  is  a demon  which 
takes  the  shine  off  a young  man’s  soul  to  a terrible  extent. 
Will  you  have  my  opinion,  my  dear  boy?  I say  to  you  as  I 
did  to  little  d’Esgrignon  : Pay  your  debts  cautiously,  keeping 
enough  to  live  on  for  three  years,  and  get  married  in  the 
country  to  the  first  girl  who  has  thirty  thousand  francs  a year. 
In  three  years  you  will  be  sure  to  have  found  some  suitable 
heiress  who  will  gladly  hear  herself  called  Madame  de  Porten- 
duere. These  are  the  words  of  wisdom.  Let  us  have  a drink. 

I propose  a toast : ‘ To  the  girl  with  money!  ’ ” 

The  young  men  did  not  leave  their  ex-friend  till  the  official 
hour  of  parting,  and  on  the  threshold  of  the  gate  they  said  to 
each  other,  “ He  is  not  game  ! He  is  very  much  crushed  ! 
Will  he  pick  himself  up  again  ! ” 

The  next  day  Savinien  wrote  to  his  mother,  a general  con- 
fession covering  twenty-two  pages.  Madame  de  Portenduere, 
after  crying  for  a whole  day,  wrote  first  to  her  son,  promising 
to  get  him  out  of  prison,  and  then  to  the  Comtes  de  Por- 
tenduere and  de  Kergarouet. 

The  letters  the  cure  had  just  read,  and  which  the  poor 
mother  now  held  in  her  hand,  moist  with  her  tears,  had 
reached  her  that  morning,  and  had  almost  broken  her  heart. 

‘ ‘ Paris,  September , 1829. 

“To  Madame  de  Portenduere. 

“Madame: — You  cannot  doubt  the  great  interest  which 
the  admiral  takes  in  your  troubles.  The  news  you  write  to 
M.  de  Kergarouet  distresses  me  all  the  more  because  my  house 


116 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


was  open  to  your  son ; we  were  proud  of  him.  If  Savinien 
had  had  more  confidence  in  the  admiral,  we  would  have  taken 
him  in  charge,  and  he  would  now  have  a suitable  appoint- 
ment ; but  the  unhappy  boy  told  us  nothing  ! The  admiral 
could  not  possibly  pay  a hundred  thousand  francs ; he  is  him- 
self in  debt,  and  has  involved  himself  for  me,  for  I knew 
nothing  of  his  pecuniary  position.  He  regrets  it  all  the  more 
because  Savinien,  by  allowing  himself  to  be  arrested,  has  for 
the  moment  tied  our  hands.  If  my  handsome  nephew  had 
not  felt  for  me  some  foolish  passion  which  smothered  the 
voice  of  relationship  in  the  arrogance  of  a lover,  we  might 
have  sent  him  to  travel  in  Germany  while  his  affairs  here  were 
being  arranged.  M.  de  Kergarouet  might  have  asked  for  a 
place  for  his  grand-nephew  in  the  naval  department ; but 
imprisonment  for  debt  cannot  fail  to  paralyze  the  admiral’s 
efforts.  Pay  off  Savinien’s  debts,  let  him  go  into  the  navy ; 
he  will  then  make  his  way  like  a true  Portenduere ; he  has 
their  fire  in  his  fine  black  eyes,  and  we  will  all  help  him. 

“ So  do  not  despair,  madame ; you  still  have  friends, 
among  whom  I beg  to  be  accounted  one  of  the  sincerest,  and 
I send  you  my  best  wishes  with  every  respect.  From  your 
very  devoted  servant, 

“Emilie  de  Kergarouet.” 

“ Portenduere,  August , 1829. 

“ To  Madame  de  Portenduere. 

“My  dear  Aunt: — I am  as  much  vexed  as  pained  by 
Savinien’s  scapegrace  doings.  Married,  as  I am,  the  father 
of  two  sons  and  a daughter,  my  fortune,  moderate  indeed  in 
comparison  with  my  position  and  expectations,  does  not  allow 
of  my  reducing  it  by  such  a sum  as  a hundred  thousand  francs 
to  ransom  a Portenduere  captive  to  the  Lombards.  Sell  your 
farm,  pay  his  debts,  and  come  to  Portenduere;  you  will  here 
find  the  welcome  due  to  you  from  us,  even  if  our  hearts  were 
not  wholly  yours.  You  will  live  happy,  and  we  will  find  a 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


117 


wife  for  Savinien,  whom  my  wife  thinks  charming.  This  dis- 
aster is  nothing;  do  not  let  it  distress  you;  it  will  never  be 
heard  of  in  our  remote  district,  where  we  know  several  girls 
with  money — nay,  very  rich — who  will  be  enchanted  to  belong 
to  us. 

“ My  wife  joins  me  in  assuring  you  how  happy  you  would 
make  us,  and  begs  you  to  accept  her  hopes  that  this  plan  may 
be  carried  out,  with  the  assurance  of  our  affectionate  respect. 

“ Luc-Savinien,  Comte  de  Portenduere.” 

“What  letters  to  write  to  a Kergarouet ! ” cried  the  old 
Bretonne,  wiping  her  eyes. 

“ The  admiral  does  not  know  that  his  nephew  is  in  prison,” 
said  the  Abbe  Chaperon  presently.  “ Only  the  Countess  has 
read  your  letter,  and  she  alone  has  answered  it.  But  some- 
thing must  be  done,”  he  added  after  a pause,  “ and  this  is  the 
advice  I have  the  honor  to  offer  you.  Do  not  sell  your  farm. 
The  present  lease  is  nearly  out ; it  has  been  running  four-and- 
twenty  years ; in  a few  months  you  can  raise  the  rent  to  six 
thousand  francs,  and  demand  a premium  equal  to  two  years’ 
rent.  Borrow  from  some  honest  man — not  from  the  towns- 
people, who  make  a traffic  of  mortgages.  Your  neighbor, 
now,  is  a worthy  man,  a man  of  the  world,  who  knew  the 
upper  classes  before  the  Revolution,  and  who  from  being  an 
atheist  has  become  a Catholic.  Do  not  feel  any  repugnance 
for  coming  to  call  on  him  this  evening ; he  will  be  deeply 
sensible  of  your  taking  such  a step ; forget  for  one  moment 
that  you  are  a Kergarouet.” 

“ Never  ! ” said  the  old  mother  in  a strident  tone. 

“At  any  rate,  be  an  amiable  Kergarouet.  Come  when  he 
is  alone;  he  will  only  take  three-and-a-half  per  cent.,  perhaps 
not  more  than  three,  and  he  will  do  you  the  service  in  the 
most  delicate  manner.  You  will  be  quite  satisfied  with  him. 
He  will  go  himself  to  release  Savinien,  for  he  will  be  obliged 
to  sell  some  securities,  and  he  will  bring  him  home  to  you.” 


118 


URSULE  M1R0UET. 


“Do  you  mean  that  little  Minoret?” 

“ Little  Minoret  is  eighty-three  years  of  age,”  replied  the 
abbe  with  a smile.  “ My  dear  lady,  have  a little  Christian 
charity ; do  not  hurt  his  feelings,  as  he  may  be  useful  to  you 
in  more  ways  than  one.” 

“ How,  may  I ask  ? ” 

“Well,  he  has  living  with  him  an  angel,  the  heavenliest 
young  girl ” 

“ Yes,  that  little  Ursule.  Well,  and  what  then  ? ” 

The  poor  cure  dared  say  no  more  as  he  heard  this  inflected 
interrogation. 

“ Well,  what  then  ?”  Its  harsh  severity  cut  short  before- 
hand the  proposal  he  had  been  about  to  make. 

“ Doctor  Minoret  is,  I believe,  exceedingly  rich ” 

“ So  much  the  better  for  him.” 

“You  have  already  been  the  indirect  cause  of  your  son’s 
present  misfortunes  by  giving  him  no  opening  in  life.  Beware 
for  the  future,”  said  the  abbe  sternly.  “ Shall  I announce 
your  proposed  visit  to  your  neighbor?  ” 

“ But  why,  if  he  were  told  that  I want  him,  should  he  not 
come  to  me  ? ” 

“ Well,  madame,  if  you  go  to  him,  you  will  pay  three  per 
cent.,  and  if  he  comes  to  you,  you  will  pay  five,”  said  the 
abbe,  hitting  on  this  argument  to  persuade  the  old  lady. 
“And  if  you  should  be  forced  to  sell  your  farm  through 
Dionis  the  notary,  or  Massin  the  clerk,  who  would  refuse  to 
advance  money  in  the  hope  of  profiting  by  your  disaster,  you 
would  lose  half  the  value  of  Les  Bordieres.  I have  not  the 
smallest  influence  over  the  Dionis,  the  Massins,  the  Levraults, 
rich  country  folks  who  covet  your  farm,  and  know  that  your 
son  is  in  prison.” 

“ They  know  it ! They  know  it  ! ” she  cried,  throwing  up 
her  hands.  “ Oh,  my  poor  friend,  you  have  let  your  coffee 
get  cold.  Tiennette  ! Tiennette  ! ” 

Tiennette,  an  old  Brittany  peasant  of  sixty,  in  the  jacket 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


119 


and  cap  of  her  province,  hastened  in  and  took  the  cure’s 
coffee  to  heat  it  again. 

“ Wait  a minute,  Monsieur  le  Recteur,”  said  she,  seeing 
that  the  cure  was  about  to  drink  it.  “I  will  heat  it  in  a bain- 
marie,  and  it  will  be  none  the  worse.” 

“Very  well,  then,”  the  priest  began  again,  in  his  persuasive 
voice,  “I  will  give  the  doctor  notice  of  your  intended  visit, 
and  you  will  come.” 

The  old  lady  still  would  not  give  in  till  at  the  end  of  an 
hour’s  discussion,  during  which  the  cure  was  forced  to  repeat 
his  arguments  ten  times  over.  And  even  then  the  haughty 
daughter  of  the  Kergarouets  only  yielded  to  these  last  words — 

“ Savinien  would  go  ! ” 

“ Then  it  had  better  be  I,”  said  she. 

Nine  o’clock  was  striking  when  the  little  door  in  the  great 
gate  was  closed  behind  the  cure,  who  forthwith  rang  eagerly 
at  the  doctor’s  entrance.  The  Abbe  Chaperon  escaped  Tien- 
nette  to  fall  on  La  Bougival,  for  the  old  nurse  said  to  him — 

“You  are  very  late,  Monsieur  le  Cure.”  Just  as  Tiennette 
had  said,  “Why  have  you  left  madame  so  early  when  she  is 
in  trouble?  ” 

The  cure  found  a large  party  in  the  doctor’s  green  and 
brown  drawing-room ; for  Dionis  had  been  to  reassure  his 
heirs  on  his  way  to  see  Massin,  and  repeat  to  him  his  uncle’s 
words. 

“Ursule,”  said  he,  “has  I suspect  a love  in  her  heart 
which  will  bring  her  nothing  but  sorrow  and  care.  She  seems 
to  be  romantic  ” — the  word  applied  by  notaries  to  a sensitive 
nature — “ and  she  will  long  remain  unmarried.  So  do  not  be 
suspicious  ; pay  her  all  sorts  of  little  attentions,  and  be  the 
humble  servants  of  your  uncle,  for  he  is  sharper  than  a hun- 
dred Goupils,”  added  the  notary,  not  knowing  that  Goupil  is 
a corrupt  form  of  the  Latin  vulpes , a fox. 

So  Mesdames  Massin  and  Cremiere,  their  husbands,  the 
postmaster  and  Desire,  with  the  town  doctor  and  Bongrand, 


120 


UR  SUL  E MIROUET. 


formed  an  unwonted  and  turbulent  crowd  at  the  old  doctor’s. 
As  the  abbe  went  in  he  heard  the  sound  of  a piano.  Poor 
Ursule  was  ending  Beethoven’s  sonata  in  A.  With  the  art- 
fulness permissible  to  the  innocent,  the  girl,  enlightened  by 
her  godfather,  and  averse  to  the  family,  had  selected  this 
solemn  music,  which  must  be  studied  to  be  appreciated,  to 
disgust  these  women  with  their  wish  to  hear  her.  The  finer 
the  music,  the  less  the  ignorant  enjoy  it.  So,  when  the  door 
opened,  and  the  Abbe  Chaperon  put  in  his  venerable  head, 
“ Ah  ! here  is  Monsieur  le  Cure!  ” they  all  exclaimed,  de- 
lighted to  have  to  rise  and  put  an  end  to  their  torment. 

The  exclamation  found  an  echo  at  the  card-table,  where 
Bongrand,  the  town  doctor,  and  the  old  man  himself  were 
victims  to  the  audacity  with  which  the  tax-collector,  to  court 
his  great-uncle,  had  proposed  to  take  the  fourth  hand  at  whist. 
Ursule  came  away  from  the  piano.  The  doctor  also  rose  as 
if  to  greet  the  priest,  but  in  fact  to  put  a stop  to  the  game. 
After  many  compliments  to  their  uncle  on  his  goddaughter’s 
proficiency,  the  heirs  took  their  leave. 

“ Good-night,  friends,”  cried  the  doctor,  as  the  gate  shut. 

“ So  that  is  what  costs  so  dear  ! ” said  Madame  Cremiere 
to  Madame  Massin,  when  they  had  gone  a little  way. 

“God  forbid  that  I should  pay  any  money  to  hear  my 
little  Aline  make  such  a noise  as  that  in  the  house  !”  replied 
Madame  Massin. 

“She  said  it  was  by  Beethoven,  who  is  supposed  to  be  a 
great  composer,”  said  the  tax-collector.  “ He  has  a great 
name.” 

“ My  word  ! not  at  Nemours,”  cried  Madame  Cremiere. 

“ I believe  my  uncle  arranged  it  on  purpose  that  we  should 
never  go  there  again,”  said  Massin.  “ For  he  certainly 
winked  as  he  pointed  out  the  green  volume  to  that  little 
minx.” 

“ If  that  is  the  only  tune  they  care  to  dance  to,  they  are 
wise  to  keep  themselves  to  themselves,”  said  the  postmaster. 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


121 


“The  justice  must  be  very  fond  of  his  game  to  listen  to 
those  rigmarole  pieces,”  said  Madame  Cremiere. 

“ I shall  never  be  able  to  play  to  people  who  do  not  under- 
stand music,”  said  Ursule,  taking  her  seat  near  the  card-table. 

“ In  persons  of  a rich  organization  feeling  can  only  express 
itself  among  congenial  surroundings,”  said  the  cure.  “Just 
as  a priest  can  give  no  blessing  in  the  presence  of  the  evil 
one,  and  as  a chestnut  tree  dies  in  a heavy  soil,  so  a musician 
of  genius  feels  himself  morally  routed  when  he  is  among 
ignorant  listeners.  In  the  arts  we  need  to  receive  from  the 
souls  in  which  our  souls  find  their  medium  as  much  power  as 
we  can  impart.  The  axiom,  which  is  a law  of  human  affec- 
tions, has  given  rise  to  the  proverbs : * We  must  howl  with 
the  wolves;’  ‘Like  to  like.’  But  the  discomfort  you  must 
have  felt  is  known  only  to  tender  and  sensitive  natures.” 

“Ay,  my  friends,”  said  the  doctor,  “and  a thing  which 
might  only  annoy  another  woman  could  kill  my  little  Ursule. 
Ah  ! when  I am  no  more,  raise  up  between  this  tender  flower 
and  the  world  such  a sheltering  hedge  as  Catullus  speaks  of — 
Ut  flos , etc.” 

“ And  yet  the  ladies  were  flattering  in  their  remarks  to  you, 
Ursule,”  said  the  lawyer,  smiling. 

“ Coarsely  flattering,”  observed  the  town  doctor. 

“ I have  always  felt  such  coarseness  in  insincere  praise,” 
replied  Monsieur  Minoret.  “And  why?” 

“A  true  thought  has  its  own  refinement,”  said  the  abbe. 

“Did  you  dine  with  Madame  de  Portenduere  ? ” said 
Ursule,  questioning  the  Abbe  Chaperon,  with  a glance  of 
anxious  curiosity. 

“Yes;  the  poor  lady  is  in  much  distress,  and  it  is  not 
impossible  that  she  may  call  on  you  this  evening,  Monsieur 
Minoret.” 

“ If  she  is  in  trouble  and  needs  me,  I will  go  to  her,”  said 
the  doctor.  “ Let  us  finish  the  first  rubber.” 


122 


URSULE  MIR  OUST. 


Ursule  pressed  her  uncle’s  hand  under  the  table. 

“Her  son,”  said  the  justice,  “was  rather  too  simple  to 
live  in  Paris  without  a mentor.  When  it  came  to  my  knowl- 
edge that  inquiries  were  being  made  of  the  notary  here  about 
the  old  lady’s  farm,  I guessed  that  he  was  borrowing  on  his 
reversion.” 

“ Do  you  think  him  capable  of  that?  ” said  Ursule,  with  a 
terrible  flash  at  Monsieur  Bongrand,  who  said  to  himself, 
“Yes,  alas  ! she  is  in  love  with  him.” 

“ Yes  and  No,”  said  the  town  doctor.  “There  is  good  in 
Savinien,  and  the  proof  of  it  is  that  he  is  in  prison.  A 
thorough  rogue  never  gets  caught.” 

“ My  friends,”  said  old  Minoret,  “ enough  of  this  for  this 
evening.  We  must  not  leave  a poor  mother  to  weep  for  a 
minute  longer  when  we  can  dry  her  tears.” 

The  four  friends  rose  and  went  out.  Ursule  accompanied 
them  as  far  as  the  gate,  watched  her  godfather  and  the  cure 
while  they  knocked  at  the  door  opposite  ; and  when  Tiennette 
had  admitted  them,  she  sat  down  on  one  of  the  stone  piers  in 
the  courtyard,  La  Bougival  standing  near  her. 

“Madame  la  Vicomtesse,”  said  the  cure,  going  first  into 
the  little  room,  “ Doctor  Minoret  could  not  allow  you  to  have 
the  trouble  of  going  to  his  house ” 

“ I am  too  much  of  the  old  school,  madame,”  the  doctor 
put  in,  “not  to  know  what  is  due  from  a man  to  a person 
of  your  rank,  and  I am  only  too  happy  to  think,  from  what 
Monsieur  le  Cure  tells  me,  that  I may  be  of  some  service  to 
you.” 

Madame  de  Portenduere,  on  whom  the  arrangement  she 
had  agreed  to  weighed  so  heavily,  that,  since  the  abbe  had 
quitted  her,  she  had  thought  of  applying  rather  to  the  notary, 
was  so  surprised  by  Minoret’s  delicate  feeling,  that  she  rose  to 
return  his  bow,  and  pointed  to  an  arm-chair. 

“ Be  seated,  monsieur,”  said  she,  with  a royal  air.  “ Our 
dear  cure  will  have  told  you  that  the  Vicomte  is  in  prison  for 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


123 


debt — a young  man’s  debts — a hundred  thousand  francs.  If 
you  could  lend  him  the  sum,  I would  give  you  as  security  my 
farm  at  Bordieres.” 

“ We  can  talk  of  that,  madame,  when  I shall  have  brought 
you  back  your  son,  if  you  will  allow  me  to  represent  you  in 
these  circumstances.” 

“ Very  good,  monsieur,”  replied  the  old  lady,  with  a bow, 
and  a glance  at  the  cure,  which  was  meant  to  convey  : “ You 
are  right;  he  is  a man  of  good  breeding.” 

“ My  friend,  the  doctor,  as  you  see,  madame,  is  full  of  devo- 
tion to  your  family.” 

“We  shall  be  grateful  to  you,  monsieur,”  said  Madame 
de  Portenduere,  with  a visible  effort,  “for  at  your  age  to 
venture  through  Paris  on  the  tracks  of  a scapegrace’s  mis- 
deeds  ” 

“Madame,  in  ’65,  I had  the  honor  of  seeing  the  illustrious 
Admiral  de  Portenduere  at  the  house  of  the  worthy  Monsieur 
de  Malesherbes,  and  at  that  of  the  Comte  de  Buffon,  who 
was  anxious  to  question  him  as  to  various  curious  facts  in 
his  voyages.  It  is  not  impossible  that  Monsieur  de  Porten- 
duere, your  late  husband,  may  have  been  there  too.  The 
French  navy  was  then  in  its  glory  ; it  held  its  own  against 
England,  and  the  captain  contributed  his  quota  of  courage  to 
the  game.  How  impatiently,  in  ’83  and  ’84,  did  we  await 
news  from  the  camp  of  Saint-Roch  ! I was  very  nearly  joining 
as  surgeon  to  the  King’s  forces.  ■ Your  grand-uncle,  Admiral 
de  Kergarouet,  who  is  still  living,  fought  his  great  battle  at 
that  time,  for  he  was  on  board  the  ‘ Belle  Poule.’  ” 

“Ah  ! if  he  knew  that  his  grand-nephew  was  in  prison?” 
replied  Madame  de  Portenduere. 

“The  Vicomte  will  no  longer  be  there  two  days  hence,” 
said  old  Minoret,  rising. 

He  put  out  his  hand  to  take  the  old  lady’s,  who  allowed 
him  to  do  so ; he  kissed  it  respectfully,  bowed  low,  and  went 
out ; but  he  came  in  again  to  say  to  the  cure — 

R 


124 


URSULE  MIROUET 


**  Will  you,  my  dear  abbe,  secure  a place  for  me  in  the  dili- 
gence for  to-morrow  morning?” 

The  cure  remained  another  half-hour  to  sing  the  praises  of 
the  doctor,  who  had  intended  to  conquer  the  old  lady,  and 
had  succeeded. 

“He  is  wonderful  for  his  age,”  said  she.  “ He  talks  of 
going  to  Paris  and  settling  my  son’s  affairs  as  if  he  were 
no  more  than  five-and-twenty.  He  has  moved  in  good  so- 
ciety.” 

“ In  the  best,  madame ; and  at  this  day,  more  than  one 
son  of  an  impoverished  peer  of  France  would  be  very  happy 
to  marry  his  ward  with  a million  of  francs.  Ah,  if  such  a 
notion  should  enter  Savinien’s  brain,  times  are  so  altered  that 
the  chief  difficulties  would  not  be  raised  on  your  side  after 
your  son’s  conduct ! ” 

It  was  the  intense  amazement  with  which  tl ; old  lady  heard 
this  speech  that  allowed  the  priest  to  finish  it, 

“You  have  lost  your  wits,  my  dear  Abbe  Chaperon.” 

“ Think  it  over,  madame ; and  God  grant  that  henceforth 
your  son  may  behave  in  such  a way  as  to  acquire  that  old 
man’s  esteem  ! ” 

“If  it  were  not  you,  Monsieur  le  Cure,”  said  Madame  de 
Portenduere ; “ if  it  were  any  one  else  who  spoke  to  me  in 
these  terms ” 

“You  would  never  see  him  again,”  said  the  abbe,  smiling. 
“ We  must  hope  that  your  dear  son  may  enlighten  you  as  to 
what  is  doing  in  Paris  in  the  matter  of  marriages.  You  will 
consider  Savinien’s  happiness,  and,  after  compromising  his 
future,  you  will  surely  not  interfere  with  his  making  himself  a 
position?” 

“ And  it  is  you  who  say  this  to  me  ! ” responded  Madame 
de  Portenduere  in  amazement. 

“If  I did  not,  who  would?”  cried  the  priest,  rising  and 
beating  a prompt  retreat. 

The  cure  saw  IJrsule  and  her  godfather  walking  up  and 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


125 


down  the  little  courtyard.  The  submissive  doctor  had  been 
so  teased  by  his  ward  that  he  had  at  last  yielded ; she  wanted 
to  go  to  Paris,  and  had  found  a thousand  pretexts.  He  called 
the  cure,  who  joined  them,  and  the  doctor  begged  him  to 
engage  the  coupe  of  the  diligence  for  that  very  night  if  the 
coach-office  were  still  open. 

At  six  o’clock  on  the  following  afternoon  the  old  man  and 
the  young  girl  reached  Paris,  and  the  doctor  went,  the  same 
evening,  to  consult  his  lawyer.  Political  events  looked  threat- 
ening. The  justice  at  Nemours  had  been  telling  the  doctor 
the  day  before,  several  times  in  the  course  of  their  conversa- 
tion, that  he  would  be  nothing  less  than  mad  to  keep  a penny 
in  the  funds  so  long  as  the  quarrel  between  the  Court  and  the 
Press  should  remain  unsettled.  Minoret’s  notary  approved 
of  the  advice  indirectly  given  by  Bongrand.  So  the  doctor 
took  advantage  of  his  visit  to  Paris  to  sell  out  his  commercial 
investments  and  state  securities,  which  were  all  at  a premium, 
and  to  deposit  his  capital  in  the  bank.  The  lawyer  also  advised 
his  old  client  to  sell  the  shares  left  to  Ursule  by  Monsieur  Jordy, 
which,  as  a good  trustee,  he  had  invested.  He  promised  to 
set  to  work,  with  the  help  of  a very  knowing  agent,  to  come  to 
terms  with  Savinien’s  creditors  ; but,  to  achieve  every  success, 
it  was  necessary  that  the  young  man  should  spend  yet  a few 
days  in  prison. 

“ Hurrying  on  these  matters  costs  at  least  fifteen  percent.,” 
said  the  lawyer  to  the  doctor.  “ And  at  any  rate  you  cannot 
get  at  your  money  for  seven  or  eight  days.” 

When  Ursule  learned  that  Savinien  would  be  in  prison  at 
least  a week  longer,  she  entreated  her  guardian  to  let  her  go 
there  with  him,  if  only  for  once.  Old  Minoret  refused.  The 
uncle  and  niece  were  lodging  at  an  hotel  in  the  Rue  Croix- 
des-Petits-Champs,  where  the  doctor  had  taken  a suitable  set 
of  rooms ; and  knowing  his  ward’s  religious  honor,  he  made 
her  promise  never  to  go  out  while  he  was  absent  on  business. 
The  kind  old  man  took  her  for  walks  about  Paris,  showing 


126 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


her  the  arcades,  the  shops,  the  Boulevards — but  nothing 
interested  or  amused  her. 

“ What  do  you  want  ? ” asked  he. 

“To  see  Sainte-Pelagie,”  she  persistently  replied. 

Then  Minoret  hired  a hackney  coach,  and  took  her  to  the 
Rue  de  la  Clef,  where  the  vehicle  drew  up  in  front  of  the 
squalid  building — an  ancient  convent  turned  into  a prison. 
The  sight  of  the  high  gray  walls.,  where  every  window  was 
closely  barred,  of  the  low  door,  not  to  be  entered  without 
stooping — dreadful  lesson  ! — the  gloomy  mass  standing  in  a 
neighborhood  full  of  poverty,  where  it  rises  in  the  midst  of 
deserted  streets,  itself  the  supreme  misery ; the  whole  com- 
bination of  dismal  ideas  choked  Ursule,  and  made  her  shed 
tears. 

“ How  is  it,”  said  she,  “ that  young  men  can  be  imprisoned 
for  money?  How  is  it  that  a debt  gives  to  a money-lender 
such  power  as  the  King  himself  does  not  possess  ? And  he  is 
there!”  she  exclaimed.  “Where,  godfather?”  she  added, 
looking  from  one  window  to  another. 

“Ursule,”  said  her  godfather,  “you  make  me  commit 
follies.  This  is  not  forgetting  him  ! ” 

“But,”  said  she,  “even  if  I must  give  him  up,  must  I feel 
no  interest  in  him  ? I may  love  him,  and  marry  no  one.” 

“Oh  ! ” cried  the  old  man,  “ there  is  so  much  method  in 
your  madness,  that  I repent  of  having  brought  you.” 

Three  days  later  the  old  man  had  the  receipts  in  due  form, 
the  title-deeds,  and  all  the  documents  which  were  necessary  to 
liberate  Savinien.  The  liquidation,  including  the  agent’s 
commission,  had  been  effected  for  the  sum  of  eighty  thousand 
francs.  The  doctor  had  in  hand  eight  hundred  thousand 
francs,  which,  by  his  lawyer’s  advice,  he  placed  in  treasury 
notes,  so  as  not  to  lose  too  much  interest.  He  kept  twenty 
thousand  in  bank-notes  for  Savinien. 

The  doctor  himself  went  to  release  him  on  Saturday  at  two 
o’clock,  and  the  young  Vicomte,  already  informed  by  a letter 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


127 


from  his  mother,  thanked  his  deliverer  with  sincere  effusive- 
ness of  feeling. 

“ You  must  not  delay  in  coming  home  to  see  your  mother,” 
said  old  Minoret. 

Savinien  replied,  in  some  confusion,  that  even  in  prison  he 
had  contracted  a debt  of  honor;  and  he  told  the  doctor  of 
the  visit  of  his  three  friends. 

“ I suspected  you  might  have  some  personal  debts,”  said 
the  doctor  with  a smile.  “ Your  mother  has  borrowed  a 
hundred  thousand  francs,  but  I have  paid  no  more  than  eighty 
thousand ; here  is  the  remainder,  use  it  with  thrift,  monsieur, 
and  regard  what  is  left  as  your  stake  on  the  green  cloth  of 
fortune.” 

During  the  past  week  Savinien  had  reflected  on  the  times 
he  lived  in.  Competition  on  all  sides  demands  severe  labor 
from  those  who  hope  to  make  a fortune.  Illegal  methods 
require  more  talent  and  underhand  manoeuvres  than  enter- 
prise under  the  light  of  day.  Success  in  the  gay  world,  far 
from  securing  a position,  absorbs  time  and  a great  deal  of 
money.  The  name  of  Portenduere,  omnipotent  according  to 
his  mother,  was  nothing  in  Paris.  His  cousin  the  deputy,  the 
Comte  de  Portenduere,  cut  but  a small  figure  in  the  midst  of 
the  elective  Chamber  in  comparison  with  the  peerage  and  the 
court,  and  had  no  more  influence  than  enough  for  himself. 
Admiral  Kergarouet  existed  only  in  the  person  of  his  wife. 
He  had  seen  orators,  men  who  had  risen  from  a social  rank 
beneath  the  nobility  or  the  simple  gentry,  become  personages 
of  importance.  In  short,  money  was  the  pivot,  the  only 
means,  the  only  motor  of  a society  which  Louis  XVIII.  had 
tried  to  form  in  imitation  of  that  of  England. 

On  his  way  from  the  Rue  de  la  Clef  to  the  Rue  Croix-des- 
Petits-Champs,  the  young  gentleman  summed  up  his  medita- 
tions, and  laid  them  before  the  old  doctor,  in  accordance  with 
de  Marsay’s  advice. 

“ I must  let  myself  be  forgotten,”  said  he,  “for  three  or 


128 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


four  years,  and  try  to  find  a career.  Perhaps  I may  make  a 
name  in  political  diplomacy  or  in  moral  statistics,  by  some 
treatise  on  one  of  the  great  questions  of  the  day.  At  any  rate, 
while  finding  some  young  person  whom  I may  marry,  and 
whose  position  may  qualify  me  for  election,  I shall  work  in 
silence  and  obscurity.” 

The  doctor  studied  the  young  man’s  countenance,  and  saw 
in  it  the  fixed  purpose  of  a man  who,  having  been  wounded, 
hopes  for  revenge.  He  greatly  approved  this  scheme. 

“ My  young  neighbor,”  said  he,  “ if  you  have  cast  the  skin 
of  the  old  nobility — which  is  not  found  to  be  good  wear 
nowadays — after  three  or  four  years  of  a steady  industrious 
life,  I will  undertake  to  find  you  a superior  girl,  pretty,  amia- 
ble, pious,  and  with  a fortune  of  seven  or  eight  hundred 
thousand  francs,  who  will  make  you  happy,  and  of  whom  you 
may  be  proud,  though  she  has  no  nobility  but  that  of  the 
heart.” 

“ Eh,  doctor  ! ” cried  the  young  man,  “ there  is  no  nobility 
left — only  an  aristocracy.” 

“ Go  and  pay  your  debts  of  honor,  and  return  here.  I will 
go  to  engage  the  coupe  of  the  diligence,  for  my  ward  is  with 
me,”  said  the  old  man. 

That  evening,  at  six  o’clock,  the  three  travelers  set  out 
from  the  Rue  Dauphine  by  the  “ Dueler.”  Ursule,  who  wore 
a veil,  spoke  not  a word.  After  blowing  her  the  kiss  in  an 
impulse  of  trivial  flirtation,  which  had  upset  Ursule  as  much  as 
a whole  book  of  love,  Savinien  had  totally  forgotten  the 
doctor’s  ward  in  the  torments  of  his  debts  ; and,  indeed,  his 
hopeless  adoration  of  Emilie  de  Kergarouet  did  not  suffer  him 
to  bestow  a remembrance  on  the  glances  he  had  interchanged 
with  a mere  little  girl  at  Nemours.  So  he  did  not  recognize 
her  when  the  old  man  made  her  get  first  into  the  coach  and 
sat  next  her,  dividing  her  from  the  young  Vicomte. 

“I  have  accounts  to  settle  with  you,”  said  the  doctor  to 
the  youth ; “I  have  all  your  papers  here.” 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


129 


“I  was  within  an  ace  of  not  getting  away,”  said  Savinien. 
“ I had  to  order  clothes  and  linen ; the  Philistines  have 
robbed  me  of  everything,  and  I am  in  the  state  of  the  prod- 
igal son.” 

However  interesting  the  subjects  of  conversation  between 
the  old  man  and  the  young  one,  however  pertinent  some  of 
Savinien’s  remarks,  the  young  girl  sat  in  silence  till  it  was 
dark,  her  green  veil  hiding  her  face,  and  her  hands  folded  over 
her  shawl. 

“You  do  not  seem  to  have  found  Paris  very  delightful, 
mademoiselle,”  said  Savinien  at  last,  somewhat  piqued. 

“I  am  glad  to  return  to  Nemours,”  she  replied,  in  an 
agitated  voice,  putting  up  her  veil. 

In  spite  of  the  gloom,  Savinien  now  recognized  her  by 
her  thick  plaits  of  hair  and  brilliant  blue  eyes. 

“ And,  for  my  part,  I can  leave  Paris  without  regret  to 
bury  myself  at  Nemours,  since  I there  shall  find  so  fair  a 
neighbor,”  said  he.  “I  hope,  Monsieur  le  Docteur,  that 
you  will  allow  me  to  visit  you ; I am  fond  of  music,  and  I 
remember  hearing  Mademoiselle  Ursule’s  piano.” 

“ I hardly  know,  monsieur,”  said  the  doctor  gravely, 
“whether  your  mother  will  be  pleased  that  you  should  come 
to  see  an  old  man  who  is  obliged  to  have  a mother’s  care 
of  this  dear  child.” 

This  measured  reply  gave  Savinien  much  to  think  about ; 
he  now  recollected  that  kiss,  so  lightly  wafted. 

It  was  now  night ; the  heat  was  oppressive  ; the  doctor 
and  Savinien  were  the  first  to  fall  asleep.  Ursule,  who  re- 
mained a long  time  awake,  her  head  full  of  plans,  succumbed 
about  midnight.  She  had  taken  off  her  little  hat  of  coarse 
straw  plait.  Her  head,  in  a little  cap  of  embroidered  muslin, 
presently  dropped  on  to  her  godfather’s  shoulder.  At  day- 
break, near  Bouron,  Savinien  woke  the  first.  He  saw  Ursule 
in  the  untidy  state  produced  by  the  jolting  of  the  coach ; her 
cap  was  tumbled  and  askew ; her  hair  had  come  unpinned, 
9 


130 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


and  the  plaits  fell  about  her  face,  which  was  rosy  with  the 
heat ; but  in  this  disorder,  which  is  horrible  in  a woman  to 
whom  dress  is  indispensable,  youth  and  beauty  are  triumphant. 
The  sleep  of  innocence  is  always  lovely.  Her  parted  lips 
showed  pretty  teeth ; her  shawl,  thrown  back,  allowed  him  to 
observe,  without  offense  to  Ursule,  the  grace  of  her  figure 
under  the  folds  of  a full  bodice  of  flowered  muslin.  And 
through  the  countenance  shone  the  purity  of  the  maiden’s 
soul,  all  the  more  visible  because  no  other  expression  mingled 
with  it.  Old  Minoret,  who  presently  woke,  arranged  her 
head  against  the  corner  of  the  coach  to  make  her  more  com- 
fortable ; and  she  did  not  even  feel  what  he  did,  so  soundly 
was  she  sleeping,  after  spending  so  many  nights  in  thinking 
of  Savinien’s  misfortunes. 

“ Poor  little  thing  ! ” said  he  to  his  companion,  “ she  sleeps 
like  a child — as  she  is.” 

“You  should  be  proud  of  her,”  said  Savinien,  “ for  she 
seems  to  be  as  good  as  she  is  pretty.” 

“Ah!  she  is  the  light  of  the  house!  If  she  were  my 
daughter,  I could  not  love  her  better.  She  will  be  sixteen  on 
the  5th  of  February  next.  God  grant  I may  live  to  see  her 
married  to  a man  who  will  make  her  happy  ! I wanted  to 
take  her  to  the  play  in  Paris,  where  she  had  never  been  be- 
fore ; she  would  not  go ; the  cure  at  Nemours  had  forbidden 
it.  ‘But,’  said  I,  ‘when  you  are  married,  if  your  husband 
wishes  to  take  you  ? ’ ‘I  shall  do  whatever  my  husband 
desires,’  said  she.  ‘ If  he  should  ask  me  to  do  anything 
wrong,  and  I should  be  so  weak  as  to  obey  him,  he  will  be 
held  responsible  before  God  ; but  I should  find  strength  to 
resist — in  his  interest,  of  course.’  ” 

As  they  reached  Nemours,  at  five  in  the  morning,  Ursule 
woke  up,  quite  ashamed  of  her  untidiness,  and  of  meeting 
Savinien’s  gaze  of  frank  admiration.  During  the  hour  which 
the  diligence  took  to  drive  from  Bouron,  where  it  had  stopped 
a few  minutes,  the  young  man  had  fallen  in  love  with  Ursule. 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


131 


He  had  studied  the  innocence  of  her  soul,  the  beauty  of  her 
person,  the  whiteness  of  her  complexion,  the  delicacy  of  her 
features,  and  the  sweet  voice  which  had  spoken  the  brief  ex- 
pressive phrase  in  which  the  poor  child  had  told  everything 
while  intending  to  tell  nothing.  In  short,  I know  not  what 
presentiment  led  him  to  think  of  Ursule  as  the  wife  the 
doctor  had  suggested  to  him,  set  in  a gold  frame  by  the 
magical  words — “ Seven  or  eight  hundred  thousand  francs.” 

“In  three  or  four  years  she  will  be  twenty;  I shall  be 
twenty-seven.  The  good  man  spoke  of  struggles,  of  work,  of 
good  behavior.  However  cunning  he  may  be,  he  will  end  by 
telling  me  his  secret.” 

The  neighbors  parted  before  their  respective  houses,  and 
Savinien  put  much  meaning  into  his  leave-taking,  with  a 
glance  at  Ursule  full  of  imploring  invitation. 

Madame  de  Portenduere  left  her  son  to  sleep  till  noon. 
The  doctor  and  Ursule,  in  spite  of  their  fatiguing  journey, 
went  to  high  mass. 

Savinien’s  release,  and  his  return  in  the  doctor’s  company, 
had  explained  the  object  of  his  journey  to  the  parochial  poli- 
ticians and  to  his  heirs,  who  had  met  in  council  in  the  church 
square,  as  they  had  done  a fortnight  since.  To  the  great 
surprise  of  all  parties,  on  coming  out  of  church,  Madame  de 
Portenduere  stopped  old  Minoret,  who  offered  her  his  arm, 
and  conducted  her  home.  The  old  lady  wished  to  invite  him 
and  his  ward  to  dinner  that  same  day,  telling  him  that  the 
cure  would  be  her  other  guest. 

“ He  wanted  to  let  Ursule  see  Paris,”  said  Minoret-Levrault. 

“ Damnation  ! The  old  man  cannot  stir  a step  without 
his  little  housekeeper,”  cried  Cremiere. 

“ There  must  have  been  some  very  private  transactions 
between  them,  for  Mother  Portenduere  to  take  his  arm,” 
observed  Massin. 

“ It  has  not  occurred  to  you  that  your  uncle  has  sold  his 
investments  and  taken  the  young  ’un  out  of  quod  ! ” cried 


132 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


Goupil.  “ He  refused  my  master,  but  he  did  not  refuse  his 

madame Ah ! your  goose  is  cooked  ! The  Vicomte 

will  propose  a marriage-contract  instead  of  a promise  to  pay, 
and  the  doctor  will  make  the  husband  settle  on  his  god- 
daughter all  the  money  he  will  have  to  give  her  to  secure  such 
a match.” 

“ It  would  not  be  such  a bad  stroke  of  business  to  marry 
Ursule  to  Monsieur  Savinien,”  said  the  butcher.  “The  old 
lady  is  having  them  to  dine  with  her  to-day ; Tiennette  came 
over  to  me  at  five  in  the  morning  to  secure  a fillet  of  beef.” 

“Well,  Dionis,  this  is  a pretty  piece  of  work  ! ” said  Mas- 
sin,  hurrying  to  meet  the  notary,  who  came  out  on  to  the 
square. 

“Why,  what’s  wrong?”  said  the  notary.  “All  is  well; 
your  uncle  has  sold  his  securities,  and  Madame  de  Porten- 
duere  has  asked  me  to  go  to  her  house  to  witness  a deed 
acknowledging  a loan  of  a hundred  thousand  francs  from  your 
uncle  on  a mortgage  of  her  estates.” 

“Yes;  but  if  the  young  folks  were  to  marry  each  other?” 

“ You  might  as  well  say'if  Goupil  were  to  be  my  successor,” 
said  the  notary. 

“ Neither  case  is  impossible,”  said  Goupil. 

On  returning  from  mass,  the  old  lady  sent  Tiennette  to 
desire  her  son  to  come  to  her  room. 

The  little  house  had  three  rooms  on  the  ground  floor. 
Those  of  Madame  de  Portenduere  and  of  her  deceased  husband 
were  on  the  same  side  of  the  house,  divided  by  a dressing- 
room  with  a borrowed  light,  and  a small  anteroom  opening 
on  to  the  stairs.  The  window  of  the  third  room,  which  had 
always  been  Savinien’s,  looked  out  on  the  street,  as  did  that 
of  his  father’s.  The  staircase  lay  behind  it  in  such  a way  as 
to  leave  space  for  a little  dressing-room  adjoining,  with  a 
small  round  window  to  the  courtyard. 

Madame  de  Portenduere’s  room,  the  gloomiest  in  the  house, 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


133 


also  looked  on  the  yard  ; but  the  widow  spent  her  life  in  the 
sitting-room  on  the  ground  floor,  which  communicated  by  a 
passage  with  the  kitchen  built  on  the  farther  side  of  the  court- 
yard ; so  that  this  room  did  duty  both  as  drawing-room  and 
dining-room. 

The  room  that  had  been  Monsieur  de  Portenduere’s  re- 
mained in  the  state  in  which  it  had  been  left  on  the  day  of 
his  death;  the  dead  man  alone  was  missing.  Madame  de 
Portenduere  herself  had  made  the  bed,  and  laid  upon  it  the 
captain’s  uniform,  with  her  husband’s  sword,  red  ribbon, 
orders  and  hat.  The  gold  snuff-box  out  of  which  the  Vicomte 
had  taken  his  last  pinch  of  snuff  was  on  the  table  by  the  bed, 
with  his  prayer-book,  his  watch,  and  the  cup  he  used  to  drink 
out  of.  His  white  hair,  arranged  in  a frame  in  a single  thick 
curl,  hung  above  the  crucifix  and  holy-water  cup  over  the  bed. 
Finally,  the  trifling  objects  of  his  daily  use  were  all  in  their 
place — his  papers,  furniture,  Dutch  spittoon,  and  field-glass 
hanging  over  the  fireplace.  The  widow  had  stopped  the 
antique  clock  at  the  hour  of  his  death,  which  it  thus  recorded 
in  perpetuity.  The  scent  of  his  powder  and  snuff  still  hung 
in  the  air.  The  hearth  was  as  he  had  left  it.  To  go  into  the 
room  was  like  seeing  him  again,  on  finding  all  the  things  that 
thus  spoke  of  his  habits.  His  tall  cane  with  its  gold  knob 
still  lay  where  he  had  left  it,  and  his  large  doeskin  gloves 
close  beside  it.  On  the  console  stood  a vase  of  solid  gold, 
coarsely  executed,  but  worth  a thousand  crowns,  a present 
from  the  port  of  Havana,  which  he  had  protected  during  the 
war  of  American  Independence  from  an  attack  of  the  English, 
holding  his  own  against  a superior  force,  after  getting  the 
vessels  under  his  convoy  safe  into  harbor.  As  a reward  the 
King  of  Spain  had  made  him  Knight  of  the  Spanish  Orders. 
For  this  achievement  he  was  promoted  on  the  first  oppor- 
tunity to  the  command  of  a squadron,  and  received  the  order 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor. 

Then,  on  his  next  leave,  he  married  his  wife,  with  a for- 


134 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


tune  of  two  hundred  thousand  francs.  But  the  Revolution 
stopped  all  further  promotion,  and  Monsieur  de  Portenduere 
emigrated. 

“ Where  is  my  mother?”  asked  Savinien  of  Tiennette,  on 
making  his  appearance. 

“ She  is  waiting  for  you  in  your  father’s  room,”  said  the  old 
Bretonne. 

Savinien  could  not  repress  a little  shudder.  He  knew  how 
rigid  were  his  mother’s  principles,  her  worship  of  honor,  her 
loyalty,  her  faith  in  noble  blood,  and  he  foresaw  a scene.  So 
he  went  as  if  to  lead  a forlorn  hope,  his  heart  beating  and 
his  face  almost  pallid.  In  the  twilight  that  filtered  through 
the  Venetian  shutters  he  saw  his  mother  dressed  in  black,  and 
wearing  a solemn  mien  in  harmony  with  this  chamber  of  the 
dead. 

“ Monsieur  le  Vicomte,”  she  said,  rising  as  he  entered  and 
taking  his  hand  to  lead  him  to  the  bedside,  “ there  your 
father  died — a man  of  honor  ; died  without  having  anything 
to  reproach  himself  with.  His  spirit  is  above.  He  must 
indeed  have  groaned  there  to  see  his  son  disgraced  by  im- 
prisonment for  debt.  Under  the  old  monarchy  you  would 
have  been  spared  this  mud-stain,  by  craving  a lettre  de  cachet , 
by  which  you  would  have  been  shut  up  for  a few  days  in  a 
state  prison.  .However,  you  now  stand  before  your  father, 
who  can  hear  you.  You,  knowing  all  you  had  done  before 
being  taken  to  that  squalid  prison,  can  you  swear  to  me,  be- 
fore that  shade,  and  before  God  who  sees  all  things,  that  you 
have  done  no  dishonorable  action,  that  your  debts  were  the 
consequence  of  a young  man’s  follies — in  short,  that  your 
honor  is  unspotted  ? If  your  blameless  father  were  there, 
alive,  in  that  armchair,  if  he  could  call  you  to  account  for 
your  conduct,  would  he,  after  hearing  you,  embrace  you 
still?” 

“ Yes,  mother,”  said  the  young  man,  with  the  most  respect- 
ful gravity. 


THE  HEIRS  IN  ALARM. 


135 


She  opened  her  arms  and  clasped  her  son  to  her  heart, 
shedding  a few  tears. 

“Then  let  all  be  forgotten,”  said  she;  “we  have  lost 
nothing  but  the  money.  I will  pray  to  God  that  it  may  be 
restored  to  us ; and  since  you  still  are  worthy  of  your  name, 
kiss  me,  for  I have  suffered  greatly.” 

“I  swear  to  you,  my  dear  mother,”  said  he,  holding  out 
his  hand  over  the  bed,  “ never  again  to  give  you  the  least 
trouble  of  the  same  kind,  and  to  do  all  in  my  power  to  repair 
my  past  errors.” 

“ Come  to  breakfast,  my  child,”  she  said,  and  she  left  the 
room. 

If  the  laws  of  the  stage  are  to  be  applied  to  narrative, 
Savinien’s  arrival,  by  introducing  at  Nemours  the  only  actor 
as  yet  missing  from  the  personages  of  this  little  drama,  here 
completes  the  prologue. 


v 


II. 


THE  MINORET  PROPERTY. 

The  action  began  with  a scene  so  hackneyed  in  literature, 
whether  old  or  new,  that  no  one  would  believe  in  its  effect  in 
1829  if  the  principal  figure  were  not  an  old  lady  of  Brittany, 
a Kergarouet,  and  an  emigree.  But  it  must  at  once  be  made 
clear  that  in  1829  the  nobility  had  reconquered  in  society 
some  of  the  ground  it  had  lost  in  political  influence.  More- 
over, the  feeling  which  governs  grandparents  when  matri- 
monial suitability  is  in  question,  is  imperishable ; it  is  closely 
implicated  with  the  existence  of  civilized  society,  and  founded 
in  family  spirit.  It  is  supreme  at  Geneva  as  at  Vienna,  and 
as  at  Nemours,  where  Zelie  Levrault  had  refused  her  consent 
to  her  son’s  marrying  the  daughter  of  a bastard. 

Still,  every  social  law  has  its  exceptions.  Savinien  proposed 
trying  to  bend  his  mother’s  pride  before  Ursule’s  innate  no- 
bility. The  battle  began  forthwith.  As  soon  as  he  was 
seated  at  table  his  mother  began  to  tell  him  of  the  dreadful 
letters,  as  she  called  them,  written  to  her  by  the  Kergarouets 
and  the  Portendueres. 

“ The  family  has  ceased  to  exist,  my  dear  mother,”  replied 
Savinien.  “ Nothing  is  left  but  the  individual.  The  nobility 
no  longer  forms  a compact  body.  Nowadays  no  one  asks  if 
you  are  a Portenduere,  or  if  you  are  brave,  or  a statesman ; 
all  that  any  one  inquires  is,  ‘ How  much  do  you  pay  in  rates 
and  taxes  ? ’ ” 

“ And  the  King  ? ” asked  the  old  lady. 

“ The  King  stands  between  the  two  Chambers,  like  a man 
between  his  lawful  wife  and  his  mistress.  So  I must  contrive 
to  marry  some  rich  girl  whatever  her  family  may  be — a peas- 
ant’s daughter  if  she  has  a million  of  francs,  and  if  she  is 
(136) 


THE  MIN O RET  PROPERTY. 


137 


fairly  well  brought  up;  that  is  to  say,  if  she  comes  from  a 
convent-school.” 

“ This  is  quite  another  matter  ! ” said  the  old  lady. 

Savinien  knit  his  brows  over  this  reply.  He  knew  that 
granite  will,  called  Breton  obstinacy,  which  characterized  his 
mother;  and  was  anxious  to  know,  as  soon  as  possible,  what 
her  views  were  on  this  delicate  subject. 

“ And  so,”  said  he,  “ if  I should  fall  in  love  with  a girl — 
say,  for  instance,  our  neighbor’s  ward,  little  Ursule — you 
would  oppose  my  marrying  her  ? ” 

“ To  my  dying  day,”  said  she.  “After  my  death  you 
alone  will  be  responsible  for  the  honor  and  the  blood  of  the 
Portendueres  and  the  Kergarouets.” 

“ Then  you  would  leave  me  to  die  of  hunger  and  despair 
for  the  sake  of  a chimera  which,  in  these  days,  can  only  be- 
come real  by  acquiring  the  splendor  of  wealth.” 

“You  can  serve  France  and  trust  in  God.” 

“ You  will  postpone  my  happiness  till  the  day  after  your 
death.” 

“It  will  be  horrible  on  your  part,  that  is  all,”  calmly  re- 
plied his  mother. 

“ Louis  XIV.  was  very  near  marrying  Mazarin’s  niece — a 
parvenu.” 

“ Mazarin  himself  opposed  it.” 

“ And  the  widow  Scarron  ? ” 

“ She  was  a d’Aubigne  ! Besides,  the  marriage  was  secret. 
But  I am  a very  old  woman,  my  son,”  she  added,  shaking  her 
head.  “ When  I am  gone,  you  can  marry  to  please  your  own 
fancy.” 

Savinien  loved  and  respected  his  mother;  but  at  once, 
though  in  silence,  he  set  against  the  obstinacy  of  the  daughter 
of  the  Kergarouets,  an  obstinacy  equal  to  her  own,  and  de- 
termined never  to  have  any  wife  but  Ursule,  to  whom  this 
opposition  gave  all  the  charm  of  a forbidden  joy — as  always 
happens  in  such  cases. 


138 


URSULE  MIR  OCTET. 


When,  after  vespers,  Doctor  Minoret,  with  Ursule,  dressed 
in  pink  and  white,  entered  the  chilly  sitting-room,  the  poor 
child  was  seized  with  nervous  trembling,  just  as  if  she  had 
found  herself  in  the  presence  of  the  Queen  of  France,  and 
had  some  favor  to  ask  of  her.  Since  her  talk  with  the  doc- 
tor, the  little  house  had  assumed,  to  her,  the  proportions  of 
a palace,  and  the  old  lady  all  the  social  importance  that  a 
duchess  must  have  had  in  the  eyes  of  a villein’s  daughter  in 
the  middle  ages.  Never  had  Ursule  measured  more  hope- 
lessly the  distance  which  divided  a Vicomte  de  Portenduere 
from  the  daughter  of  a bandmaster,  a singer  in  the  opera,  the 
natural  son  of  an  organist,  herself  living  on  the  bounty  of  a 
physician. 

“What  ails  you,  child?”  said  the  lady,  making  her  sit 
down  by  her  side. 

“ Madame,  I am  overcome  by  the  honor  you  condescend 
to  pay  me.” 

“Why,  child,”  replied  Madame  de  Portenduere  in  her 
most  vinegary  accent,  “ I know  how  much  your  guardian  loves 
you,  and  I wish  to  do  what  is  agreeable  to  him,  for  he  has 
brought  home  the  prodigal  son.” 

“But,  my  dear  mother,”  said  Savinien,  for  it  went  to  his 
heart  to  see  Ursule’s  deep  blushes,  and  the  terrible  effort  by 
which  she  repressed  her  tears,  “ even  if  you  were  under  no 
obligation  to  Monsieur  Minoret,  it  seems  to  me  we  might 
be  gratified  by  the  pleasure  mademoiselle  is  good  enough  to 
do  us  by  accepting  your  invitation.”  And  the  young  man 
pressed  the  doctor’s  hand  with  meaning  as  he  added — 

“ You,  monsieur,  wear  the  order  of  Saint  Michael,  the  oldest 
French  order,  which  in  itself  confers  nobility.” 

Ursule’s  great  beauty,  to  which  her  almost  hopeless  love 
had,  within  the  last  few  days,  given  the  depth  of  expression 
which  the  greatest  painters  have  always  stamped  on  those 
portraits  in  which  the  soul  is  made  strongly  visible,  had  sud- 
denly struck  Madame  de  Portenduere,  and  led  her  to  suspect 


THE  MI  NO  RET  PROPERTY. 


139 


some  ambitious  interest  under  the  doctor’s  generosity.  And 
the  speech  to  which  Savinien  had  replied  was  uttered  with  a 
pointedness  that  wounded  the  old  man  in  what  was  dearest 
to  him.  Still,  he  could  not  forbear  from  smiling  as  he  heard 
himself  addressed  as  “ Chevalier  ” by  Savinien,  and  discerned 
in  this  audacious  exaggeration  a lover’s  fearlessness  of  the 
ridiculous. 

“The  order  of  Saint  Michael,  to  obtain  which  so  many 
follies  were  committed  of  old,  is  fallen,  Monsieur  le  Vicomte,” 
replied  the  old  court  physician.  “ Fallen,  like  so  many  other 
privileges  ! It  is  no  longer  bestowed  on  any  but  doctors  and 
poor  artists.  And  so  kings  have  done  well  to  unite  it  to  that 
of  Saint  Lazarus,  a saint  who  was,  I believe,  an  unhappy 
wretch  brought  back  to  life  by  a miracle  ! Viewed  in  this 
light,  the  order  of  Saint  Michael  and  Saint  Lazarus  to  us  may 
be  symbolical.” 

After  this  reply,  full  of  irony  and  dignity,  silence  reigned, 
no  one  caring  to  break  it ; and  it  was  becoming  uncomfort- 
able, when  a knock  was  heard. 

“Here  is  our  good  cure,”  said  the  old  lady,  rising,  and 
leaving  Ursule  to  herself,  while  she  went  forward  to  receive 
the  priest — an  honor  she  had  not  paid  to  Ursule  or  the  doctor. 

Minoret  smiled  as  he  looked  from  his  ward  to  Savinien. 
To  complain  or  to  take  offense  at  Madame  de  Portenduere’s 
bad  manners  was  a rock  on  which  a small  mind  might  have 
run  aground ; but  the  old  man  had  too  much  breeding  not 
to  avoid  it.  He  began  talking  to  the  Vicomte  of  the  danger 
Charles  X.  was  in  at  that  time,  after  intrusting  the  direction 
of  his  policy  to  the  Prince  de  Polignac.  When  a long  enough 
time  had  elapsed  to  obviate  any  appearance  of  retaliation  on 
the  old  lady  by  speaking  of  business  matters,  he  handed  to 
her,  almost  jestingly,  the  documents  of  the  prosecution  and 
the  receipted  bills  which  proved  the  accounts  drawn  up  by 
the  lawyer. 

“ My  son  acknowledges  them?”  she  asked  with  a glance 


140 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


at  Savinien,  who  bowed  in  reply.  “ Well,  then,  they  can  be 
handed  to  Dionis,”  and  she  pushed  away  the  papers,  treat- 
ing the  affair  with  the  contempt  due  in  her  eyes  to  money 
matters. 

To  look  down  on  wealth  was,  in  Madame  de  Portenduere’s 
opinion,  to  enhance  nobility,  and  leave  the  middle  class  with- 
out a foot  to  stand  on. 

A few  minutes  later  Goupil  called  on  behalf  of  his  master, 
to  ask  for  the  accounts  as  between  Savinien  and  Monsieur 
Minoret. 

“And  what  for?”  asked  the  old  lady. 

“ To  serve  as  a basis  for  the  mortgage  deed;  there  is  no 
direct  payment  of  money,”  replied  the  clerk,  looking  inso- 
lently about  him. 

Ursule  and  Savinien,  who  looked  in  this  odious  person’s 
face  for  the  first  time,  felt  such  a sensation  as  is  produced  by 
a toad,  aggravated  by  a sense  of  ill  omen.  They  both  had 
that  indefinable  and  vague  anticipation  of  the  future  which  has 
no  name  in  speech,  but  which  might  be  accounted  for  by  an 
impulse  of  that  inner  self  of  which  the  Swedenborgian  had 
spoken  to  Doctor  Minoret.  A conviction  that  this  venomous 
Goupil  would  be  fatal  to  them  made  Ursule  quake ; but  she 
got  over  her  agitation  as  she  perceived  with  unspeakable  joy 
that  Savinien  shared  her  feelings. 

“Monsieur  Dionis’  clerk  is  not  a handsome  man,”  said 
Savinien,  when  Goupil  shut  the  door. 

“What  can  it  matter  whether  people  of  that  class  are  ugly 
or  handsome?”  said  Madame  de  Portenduere,  with  an  eleva- 
tion of  her  eyebrows. 

“I  have  no  objection  to  his  ugliness,”  said  the  cure,  “ but 
only  to  his  malignity,  which  is  unbounded,  and  he  adds  to  it 
by  villainy.” 

In  spite  of  his  wish  to  be  amiable,  the  doctor  grew  cold 
and  dignified,  the  lovers  were  uncomfortable.  But  for  the 
simple  good-humor  of  the  Abbe  Chaperon,  whose  gentle 


THE  M/NO  RET  PROPERTY. 


141 


cheerfulness  made  the  dinner  lively,  the  position  of  the  doctor 
and  his  ward  would  have  been  almost  intolerable. 

At  dessert,  seeing  Ursule  turn  pale,  he  said  to  her,  “ If  you 
do  not  feel  well,  my  child,  there  is  only  the  street  to  cross.” 

“ What  ails  you,  my  dear?  ” said  the  old  lady  to  the  girl. 

“Unfortunately,  madame,”  said  the  doctor  severely,  “her 
soul  feels  chilled,  accustomed  as  she  is  to  see  nothing  but 
smiles.” 

“A  bad  education,  monsieur,”  said  Madame  de  Porten- 
duere.  “ Do  you  not  think  so,  Monsieur  le  Cure?  ” 

“ Yes,  madame,”  Minoret  put  in,  with  a glance  at  the  cure, 
who  could  not  say  a word.  “ I have,  I see,  made  life  impossi- 
ble to  this  seraphic  nature  if  she  were  to  be  cast  on  the  world ; 
but  before  I die,  I will  find  means  to  protect  her  from  cold- 
ness, indifference,  and  hatred ” 

“ Godfather  ! I beg  of  you — that  is  enough.  I feel  nothing 
unpleasant  here,”  she  said,  ready  to  meet  Madame  de  Porten- 
duere’s  eye  rather  than  lend  too  much  meaning  to  her  words 
by  looking  at  Savinien. 

“ Whether  Mademoiselle  Ursule  is  uncomfortable  I know 
not,  madame,”  said  Savinien  to  his  mother,  “ but  I know  that 
you  are  torturing  me.” 

On  hearing  this  speech,  wrung  from  the  generous  young 
man  by  his  mother’s  behavior,  Ursule  turned  pale ; she  begged 
Madame  de  Portenduere  to  excuse  her,  rose,  took  her  guardian’s 
arm,  courtesied,  and  went  out.  Then,  as  soon  as  she  was  at 
home,  she  rushed  into  the  drawing-room,  and,  sitting  down  by 
the  piano,  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  burst  into  tears. 

“ Why  will  you  not  leave  it  to  my  long  experience  to  guide 
your  feelings,  cruel  child?”  cried  the  doctor  in  despair. 
“ The  nobility  never  think  themselves  under  any  obligation 
towards  us  of  the  middle  class.  In  serving  them,  we  do  no 
more  than  our  duty,  that  is  all.  Besides,  the  old  lady  per- 
ceived that  Savinien  looked  at  you  with  pleasure ; she  is  afraid 
lest  he  should  fall  in  love  with  you.” 


142 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


“At  any  rate,  he  is  safe  ! ” she  said.  “But  to  try  to  set 
down  such  a man  as  you  are ! ” 

“Wait  till  I come  back,  my  child.” 

When  the  doctor  returned  to  Madame  de  Portenduere’ s he 
found  Dionis  there,  and  with  him  Monsieur  Bongrand,  and 
Levrault  the  mayor,  the  witnesses  required  by  law  to  give 
validity  to  acts  drawn  up  in  communes  where  there  is  no 
official  above  a notary.  Minoret  led  Dionis  aside  and  spoke 
a word  in  his  ear,  after  which  the  notary  read  the  deed  of 
mortgage ; Madame  de  Portenduere  pledged  all  her  property 
until  the  hundred  thousand  francs  loaned  by  the  doctor  to  the 
Vicomte  should  be  repaid,  with  the  interest,  calculated  at  five 
per  cent.  When  reading  this  clause,  the  cure  looked  at 
Minoret,  who  answered  the  abbe  by  an  approving  nod.  The 
good  priest  went  to  speak  a few  words  to  the  lady  in  a low 
voice,  and  she  replied  quite  audibly — 

“I  do  not  choose  to  owe  anything  to  people  of  that  kind.” 

“My  mother  leaves  the  pleasantest  part  to  me,”  said 
Savinien  to  the  doctor.  “ She  will  pay  you  all  the  money, 
and  leave  it  to  me  to  be  grateful.” 

“ But  you  will  have  to  find  eleven  thousand  francs  the  first 
year,”  observed  the  cure,  “ to  pay  the  law  costs.” 

“Monsieur,”  said  Minoret  to  Dionis,  “as  Monsieur  and 
Madame  de  Portenduere  are  not  in  a position  to  pay  for  the 
registration,  add  the  costs  to  the  capital  sum,  and  I will  pay 
them.” 

Dionis  made  some  calculations,  and  the  whole  sum  was 
fixed  at  a hundred  and  seven  thousand  francs.  When  all  the 
documents  were  signed,  Minoret  pleaded  fatigue,  and  with- 
drew at  the  same  time  as  the  notary  and  the  witnesses. 

“ Madame,”  said  the  abbe,  who  remained  with  the  Vicomte, 
“ why  affront  that  excellent  Minoret,  who  has  saved  you  at 
least  twenty-five  thousand  francs  in  Paris,  and  who  had  the 
good  feeling  to  leave  twenty  thousand  in  your  son’s  hands  for 
his  debts  of  honor  ? ” 


THE  MIN  ORE  T PROPERTY. 


143 


“ Your  Minoret  is  a sly  fox,”  said  she,  taking  a pinch  of 
snuff.  “ He  knows  very  well  what  he  is  about.” 

“ My  mother  fancies  that  he  wants  to  force  me  to  marry  his 
ward  by  swallowing  up  our  farm,  as  if  a Portenduere  and  the 
son  of  a Kergarouet  could  be  made  to  marry  against  his 
will.” 

An  hour  later  Savinien  made  his  appearance  at  the  doctor’s, 
where  the  heirs  had  come  together,  moved  by  curiosity.  The 
arrival  of  the  young  Vicomte  produced  a great  sensation,  all 
the  more  because  in  each  person  it  proceeded  from  a different 
emotion.  Mesdemoiselles  Cremiere  and  Massin  whispered 
together,  and  stared  at  Ursule,  who  blushed.  The  mothers 
murmured  to  Desire  that  Goupil  was  very  likely  in  the  right 
as  regarded  the  marriage.  The  eyes  of  all  were  then  centred 
on  the  doctor,  who  did  not  rise  to  greet  the  young  nobleman, 
but  merely  gave  him  a curt  bow,  without  setting  down  his 
dice-box,  for  he  was  playing  backgammon  with  Monsieur 
Bongrand.  The  doctor’s  cold  manner  surprised  them  all. 

“ Ursule,  my  dear,”  he  said,  “give  us  a little  music. 

The  young  girl  was  only  too  happy  to  have  some  occupation  ; 
and  on  seeing  her  hurry  to  the  piano  and  turn  over  the  green- 
bound  volumes,  the  expectant  heirs  resigned  themselves  with 
expressions  of  pleasure  to  the  torment  and  silence  about  to  be 
inflicted  on  them,  so  eager  were  they  to  detect  what  was  going 
on  between  their  uncle  and  the  Portendueres. 

It  happens  not  unfrequently  that  a piece,  poor  enough  in 
itself,  but  played  by  a young  girl  under  the  stress  of  deep 
feeling,  may  produce  more  impression  than  a grand  overture 
pompously  given  by  a fine  orchestra.  In  all  music  there  lies, 
besides  the  idea  of  the  composer,  the  soul  of  the  performer, 
who,  by  a privilege  peculiar  to  this  art  alone,  can  lend  purpose 
and  poetry  to  phrases  of  no  great  intrinsic  value.  Chopin,  in 
our  day,  proves  the  truth  of  this  fact  on  the  piano,  a thankless 
instrument,  as  Paganini  had  already  done  on  the  violin. 
This  great  genius  is  not  so  much  a musician  as  a soul,  which 


144 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


becomes  incarnate,  and  which  could  express  itself  in  any  form 
of  music,  even  in  simple  chords. 

Ursule,  by  her  exquisite  and  perilous  organization,  belonged 
to  this  school  of  rare  genius ; but  old  Schmucke,  the  master 
who  came  to  her  every  Saturday,  and  who,  during  her  stay  in 
Paris,  had  gone  to  her  every  day,  had  developed  his  pupil’s 
gifts  to  the  utmost  perfection.  “ Rousseau’s  Dream,”  the 
piece  Ursule  now  selected,  one  of  Herold’s  youthful  compo- 
sitions, is  not  lacking  in  a certain  fullness  which  the  player  can 
bring  out ; Ursule  gave  it  a variety  of  agitated  feeling  which 
justified  the  title  of  Caprice , which  the  fragment  bears.  By 
her  playing,  at  once  mellifluous  and  dreamy,  her  soul  spoke  to 
the  soul  of  the  young  man,  and  wrapped  him,  as  it  were,  in  a 
cloud  of  almost  visible  thoughts.  He,  seated  at  the  end  of 
the  piano,  his  elbow  resting  on  the  top,  and  his  head  sup- 
ported by  his  left  hand,  gazed  in  admiration  at  Ursule,  whose 
eyes,  fixed  on  the  wainscot  beyond,  seemed  to  be  questioning 
some  mystic  world.  A man  might  have  fallen  desperately  in 
love  for  less. 

True  feelings  have  a magnetic  power,  and  Ursule  intended 
to  reveal  her  soul  to  some  extent,  as  a coquette  dresses  herself 
to  attract.  Savinien  was  admitted  to  that  beautiful  realm, 
carried  away  by  her  heart,  which,  in  order  to  express  itself, 
borrowed  the  power  of  the  only  art  which  speaks  to  the  mind 
through  the  mind,  without  the  aid  of  words,  of  color,  or  of 
form.  Candor  has  the  same  power  over  men  as  childhood  has, 
the  same  charms  and  irresistible  attractions ; and  Ursule  had 
never  been  more  candid  than  at  this  moment,  when  she  was 
waking  to  a new  life. 

The  cure  came  to  snatch  the  young  man  from  his  dreams 
by  asking  him  to  take  the  fourth  hand  at  whist.  Ursule  went 
on  playing  ; the  heirs  left,  with  the  exception  of  Desire,  who 
remained  to  investigate  the  intentions  of  his  uncle,  of  the 
Vicomte,  and  of  Ursule. 

“ You  have  as  much  talent  as  feeling,  mademoiselle,”  said 


HE  GAZED  IN  ADM  I RATION  AT  URSULE. 


/ 


THE  MIN  ORE  T PROPERTY.  145 

Savinien,  when  the  young  girl  closed  the  piano,  and  came  to 
sit  down  by  her  godfather.  “ Who  is  your  master  ? ” 

“A  German  who  lives  quite  close  to  the  Rue  Dauphine,  on 
the  Quai-Conti,”  said  the  doctor.  “ If  he  had  not  been 
giving  Ursule  a lesson  every  day  during  our  stay  in  Paris,  he 
would  have  been  here  this  morning.’ ’ 

“He  is  not  only  a great  musician,”  said  Ursule,  “but  a 
man  of  the  most  adorable  simplicity.” 

“ Such  lessons  must  cost  very  dear  ! ” cried  Desire. 

The  players  exchanged  ironical  glances.  When  the  game 
was  ended,  the  doctor,  who  had  been  thoughtful  all  the  even- 
ing, turned  to  Savinien  with  the  expression  of  a man  grieved 
to  fulfill  a painful  duty. 

“ Monsieur,”  he  said,  “I  am  much  gratified  by  the  feeling 
which  has  prompted  you  to  call  on  me  so  immediately ; but 
your  mother  ascribes  to  me  a double  purpose  of  an  ignoble 
kind,  and  I should  give  her  the  right  to  do  so  if  I did  not  beg 
of  you  to  come  here  no  more,  in  spite  of  the  honor  your 
visits  do  me,  and  the  pleasure  I should  take  in  cultivating 
your  society.  My  honor  and  my  peace  of  mind  require  that 
we  should  give  up  all  neighborly  intercourse.  Pray  tell  your 
mother  that  if  I do  not  request  her  to  honor  us — my  ward 
and  myself — by  dining  with  us  next  Sunday,  it  is  because  I 
am  perfectly  certain  that  on  that  day  she  would  be  indisposed.” 

The  old  man  offered  his  hand  to  the  Vicomte,  who  pressed 
it  respectfully,  and  merely  said,  “ You  are  right,  monsieur.” 

He  went  away,  not  without  bowing  to  Ursule  with  an  ex- 
pression of  regret  rather  than  of  disappointment.  Desire  left 
the  room  at  the  same  moment,  but  he  could  not  speak  a word 
with  him,  for  Savinien  rushed  home. 

For  two  days  the  coolness  between  the  Portendueres  and 
the  doctor  was  the  sole  subject  of  conversation  among  the 
heirs,-  who  did  justice  to  the  acumen  of  Dionis,  and  be- 
lieved that  the  inheritance  was  safe.  And  thus,  in  an  age 
when  ranks  are  leveled,  when  the  mania  for  equality  puts  all 
10 


146 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


individuals  on  the  same  footing,  and  threatens  every  institu- 
tion, even  military  discipline — the  last  entrenchment  of  power 
in  France ; when,  consequently,  passion  finds  no  obstacles  to 
be  overcome  but  personal  antipathies  or  inequality  of  fortune, 
the  obstinacy  of  an  old  woman  and  the  dignity  of  Doctor 
Minoret  had  raised  between  these  two  lovers  barriers  which, 
as  usual,  were  fated  to  strengthen  rather  than  to  destroy  their 
love.  To  an  impassioned  man  a woman  is  worth  just  what 
she  costs  him  ; now  Savinien,  foreseeing  a struggle,  efforts, 
and  suspense,  which  already  made  the  young  girl  precious  to 
him,  was  determined  to  win  her.  Perhaps  our  feelings  obey 
the  law  of  nature  as  to  the  duration  of  all  her  creations — a 
long  life  has  a long  childhood. 

Next  morning,  on  waking,  Ursule  and  Savinien  had  the 
same  idea.  This  community  of  feeling  would  give  birth  to 
love  if  it  were  not  the  most  delightful  proof  of  its  existence. 
When  the  young  girl  opened  her  curtains  a little  way,  so  as  to 
give  her  eyes  exactly  space  enough  to  look  across  to  Savinien’s 
room,  she  saw  her  lover’s  face  above  the  window-fastening 
opposite.  When  we  remember  the  immense  service  done  to 
lovers  by  windows,  it  seems  quite  natural  that  they  should  be 
taxed.  After  thus  protesting  against  her  godfather’s  hard- 
heartedness, Ursule  let  the  curtains  fall  to  again,  and  opened 
the  window  to  close  the  Venetians,  through  which  she  could 
see  without  being  seen.  She  went  up  to  her  room  at  least 
seven  or  eight  times  in  the  course  of  the  day,  and  always  saw 
the  young  Vicomte  writing,  tearing  up  papers,  and  writing 
again — to  her,  no  doubt ! 

Next  morning,  when  La  Bougival  woke  Ursule,  she  handed 
her  the  following  letter  : 

“ To  Mademoiselle  Ursule. 

“Mademoiselle: — I am  under  no  misapprehension  as  to 
the  suspicion  of  which  a young  man  must  be  the  object  when 
he  has  placed  himself  in  the  position  from  which  your  guar- 


THE  MI  NO  RET  PROPERTY. 


147 


crian  rescued  me.  I henceforth  must  offer  better  guarantees 
than  another  man ; hence,  mademoiselle,  it  is  with  the  great- 
est humility  that  I throw  myself  at  your  feet  to  avow  my 
love.  This  declaration  is  not  prompted  by  passion  ; it  is 
based  on  a certainty  which  will  last  my  life  through.  A mad 
passion  for  my  young  aunt,  Madame  de  Kergarouet,  brought 
me  to  imprisonment ; will  you  not  regard  as  a mark  of  the 
sincerest  love  the  complete  effacement  of  every  memory,  the 
substitution  for  that  image  in  my  heart  of  your  own  ? From 
the  moment  when  I saw  you  asleep,  and  so  lovely  in  your 
childlike  slumbers,  at  Bouron,  you  have  filled  my  soul  as  a 
queen  holds  possession  of  her  realm.  I will  have  no  wife  but 
you.  You  have  every  perfection  I can  look  for  in  the  woman 
who  is  to  bear  my  name.  The  education  you  have  received 
and  the  dignity  of  your  soul  qualify  you  for  the  highest  posi- 
tion. But  I am  too  diffident  of  myself  to  attempt  to  paint 
you  to  yourself;  I can  only  love  you.  After  hearing  you 
play  last  night,  I remembered  these  lines,  whiqh  seem  to  have 
been  written  on  you  : 

“ * Made  to  attract  the  heart  and  charm  the  eye,  at  once 
gentle  and  intellectual,  witty  and  reasonable,  as  polished  as 
though  she  had  spent  her  life  at  courts,  as  simple  as  the  re- 
cluse who  has  never  seen  the  world,,  the  fire  of  her  soul  is 
tempered  in  her  eyes  by  divine  modesty.’ 

“ I have  felt  the  value  of  the  beautiful  soul  which  reveals 
itself  in  you  by  the  smallest  things.  This  is  what  gives  me 
the  courage  to  ask  you — if  as  yet  you  love  no  one — to  allow 
me  to  prove  to  you,  by  my  care  and  my  conduct,  that  I am 
worthy  of  you.  My  life  depends  on  it  ; you  cannot  doubt 
that  all  my  powers  shall  be  employed  not  merely  to  please 
you,  but  yet  more  to  merit  your  esteem,  which  will  to  me 
outweigh  that  of  all  the  rest  of  the  world.  In  this  hope, 
Ursule,  if  you  will  permit  me  so  to  name  you  in  my  heart 
as  one  I worship,  Nemours  will  be  my  paradise,  and  the  most 
difficult  undertakings  will  only  bring  me  joys  which  I shall 


148 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


lay  at  your  feet,  as  we  lay  all  at  the  throne  of  God.  Tell  me, 
then,  that  I may  call  myself  Your  Savinien.” 

Ursule  kissed  this  letter;  then,  after  reading  it  again,  and 
clasping  it  with  rapturous  gestures,  she  dressed  to  go  and 
show  it  to  her  godfather. 

“ Gracious  heaven  ! I was  on  the  point  of  going  without 
saying  my  prayers!”  she  exclaimed,  turning  back  and 
kneeling  down  on  her  prie-Dieu. 

A few  minutes  later  she  went  down  to  the  garden,  where 
she  found  her  guardian,  to  whom  she  gave  Savinien’s  letter 
to  read.  They  sat  down  together  on  a bench  under  the 
clump  of  creepers  facing  the  Chinese  pavilion.  Ursule  waited 
for  the  old  man  to  speak,  and  he  sat  meditating  much  too 
long  a time  for  an  impatient  girl.  Finally,  the  outcome  of 
their  secret  conference  was  the  following  letter,  which  the 
doctor  had  no  doubt  dictated  in  part : 

“ Monsieur  : — I cannot  fail  to  be  much  honored  by  the 
letter  in  which  you  offer  me  your  hand ; but  at  my  age,  and 
in  accordance  with  the  rules  I have  been  brought  up  in,  I had 
to  lay  it  before  my  guardian,  who  constitutes  my  whole 
family,  and  whom  I love  as  both  a father  and  a friend. 
These,  then,  are  the  painful  objections  he  has  raised,  and 
which  must  serve  as  my  reply. 

“ I,  Monsieur  le  Vicomte,  am  but  a poor  girl,  whose  future 
fortune  depends  entirely  not  only  on  my  godfather’s  good-will, 
but  also  on  the  doubtful  issue  of  the  measures  he  can  take  to 
evade  the  ill-will  towards  me  of  his  next-of-kin.  Though  I 
am  the  legitimate  child  of  Joseph  Mirouet,  bandmaster  to  the 
45th  Infantry  Regiment,  as  he  was  my  guardian’s  illegitimate 
half-brother,  a suit,  however  unreasonable,  may  be  brought 
against  a young  girl,  who  will  then  be  defenseless.  You  see, 
monsieur,  that  my  slender  prospects  are  not  the  worst  of  my 
misfortunes.  I have  many  reasons  for  humility.  It  is  for 


THE  MINORET  PROPERTY. 


149 


your  sake,  and  not  for  my  own,  that  I lay  before  you  these 
considerations,  which  often  weigh  but  lightly  on  loving  and 
devoted  hearts.  But  you  must  take  into  consideration  the 
fact  that  if  I did  not  represent  them  to  you,  I might  be 
suspected  of  wishing  to  induce  your  affection  to  overlook 
obstacles  which  the  world,  and,  above  all,  your  mother,  would 
think  insurmountable.  In  four  months  I shall  be  sixteen. 
You  will  perhaps  acknowledge  that  we  are,  both  of  us,  too 
young  and  too  inexperienced  to  struggle  with  the  penury  of  a 
life  begun  on  no  fortune  but  what  I possess  through  the  kind- 
ness of  the  late  Monsieur  de  Jordy.  Besides,  my  guardian 
wishes  that  I should  not  marry  before  the  age  of  twenty. 
Who  can  tell  what  fate  may  have  in  store  for  you  during  these 
four  years,  the  best  of  your  life  ? Do  not  spoil  it  for  the  sake 
of  a poor  girl. 

“ Having  thus  explained  to  you,  monsieur,  the  reasons 
given  by  my  dear  guardian,  who,  far  from  opposing  my  hap- 
piness, desires  to  contribute  to  it  with  all  his  power,  and  who 
hopes  to  see  his  protection — which  will  soon  be  but  feeble — 
replaced  by  an  affection  equal  to  his  own,  it  only  remains  for 
me  to  say  how  deeply  I am  touched  by  your  offer  and  the 
warm  compliments  you  have  added  to  it.  The  prudence 
which  dictates  this  answer  is  that  of  an  old  man  who  knows 
life  well ; but  the  gratitude  I must  express  is  that  of  a young 
girl  whose  soul  no  other  emotion  has  as  yet  entered. 

“ I can  therefore  in  all  truth  sign  myself  your  faithful 
servant,  Ursule  Mirouet.” 

Savinien  did  not  reply.  Was  he  trying  to  influence  his 
mother?  Had  her  letter  extinguished  his  love?  A thousand 
such  questions,  all  unanswerable,  tortured  Ursule,  and  by  re- 
flex action  the  doctor,  too,  for  he  suffered  under  the  slightest 
agitation  that  disturbed  his  dear  child.  Ursule  often  went  up 
to  her  room  and  looked  across  at  Savinien,  whom  she  could 
see  seated  at  his  table,  deep  in  thought,  and  often  turning  to 


150 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


glance  at  her  windows.  It  was  not  till  the  end  of  the  week 
that  she  received  this  letter  from  Savinien  whose  delay  was 
explained  by  an  increase  of  his  love : 

“To  Mademoiselle  Ursule  Mirouet. 

“Dear  Ursule: — There  is  something  of  the  Breton  in 
me,  and  when  once  I have  made  up  my  mind,  nothing  can  make 
me  alter  it.  Your  guardian — whom  may  God  long  preserve  ! 
— is  perfectly  right.  But  am  I to  blame,  then,  for  loving 
you  ? And  all  I ask  is  to  know  whether  you  love  me.  Tell 
me,  if  only  by  a sign,  and  then  these  four  years  will  indeed 
be  the  best  of  my  life  ! • 

“A  friend  of  mine  has  conveyed  to  my  uncle,  Admiral  de 
Kergarouet,  a letter,  in  which  I asked  his  influence  to  get  me 
into  the  navy.  The  kind  old  man,  touched  by  my  mishaps, 
has  answered  that  the  King’s  nomination  would  be  contrary 
to  rule  if  I wished  to  take  rank.  However,  after  three  months 
of  study  at  Toulon,  the  minister  can  place  me  in  a ship  as 
foreman  of  the  steerage  ; then,  after  a cruise  against  Algiers, 
with  whom  we  are  at  war,  I can  pass  an  examination  and 
become  a naval  cadet.  If  I should  distinguish  myself  in  the 
expedition  to  be  sent  against  Algiers,  I should  certainly  be 
made  sub-lieutenant  ; but  how  soon  ? No  one  can  tell.  But, 
at  any  rate,  the  regulations  will  be  made  as  elastic  as  possible 
to  reinstate  the  name  of  Portenduere  on  the  navy-list. 

“ I can  win  you  only  through  your  guardian,  I see,  and 
your  respect  for  him  makes  you  the  dearer  to  my  heart.  So, 
before  replying,  I will  seek  an  interview  with  him  ; on  his 
answer  my  whole  future  must  depend.  Come  what  may, 
believe  me  that,  rich  or  poor,  the  daughter  of  a bandmaster 
or  of  a king,  you  are  to  me  her  whom  the  voice  of  my  heart 
has  chosen. 

“ Dear  Ursule,  we  live  at  a time  when  prejudice,  which  of 
old  would  have  parted  us,  has  no  longer  power  enough  to 
hinder  our  marriage.  All  the  feelings  of  my  heart  are  yours, 


THE  MIN O RET  PROPERTY. 


151 


and  to  your  uncle  I will  give  such  guarantees  as  may  assure 
him  of  your  happiness.  He  does  not  know  that  I have  loved 
you  more  in  a few  minutes  than  he  has  loved  you  in  fifteen 
years  ! Till  this  evening.” 

“ See  here,  godfather  ! ” said  Ursule,  holding  out  the  letter 
with  an  impulse  of  pride. 

“ Ah  ! my  child,”  cried  the  doctor,  after  reading  the  letter, 
“ I am  more  glad  than  you  are.  By  this  determination  the 
Vicomte  has  made  up  for  all  his  misdeeds.” 

After  dinner,  Savinien  called  upon  the  doctor,  who  was* 
just  then  walking  with  Ursule  by  the  balustrade  of  the  river- 
terrace.  The  Vicomte  had  received  his  clothes  from  Paris, 
and  the  lover  had  not  omitted  to  enhance  his  personal  advan- 
tages by  dressing  as  carefully,  as  elegantly,  as  though  it  were 
to  charm  the  handsome  and  haughty  Comtesse  de  Kergarouet. 
On  seeing  him  advance  from  the  outside  steps,  the  poor 
child  clung  to  her  uncle’s  arm  exactly  as  if  she  were  trying  to 
save  herself  from  falling  into  an  abyss,  and  the  doctor  heard 
the  deep,  hollow  throbbing  of  her  heart ; it  made  him 
shudder. 

‘‘Leave  us,  my  child,”  he  said  to  his  ward,  who  went  to 
sit  down  on  the  steps  of  the  pavilion  after  suffering  Savinien 
to  take  her  hand  and  kiss  it  respectfully. 

“Monsieur,  will  you  give  that  dear  creature  to  a ship’s 
captain?”  said  the  young  Vicomte  to  the  doctor  in  a low 
voice. 

“ No,”  said  Minoret  with  a smile,  “ we  might  have  too  long 
to  wait;  but — to  a ship’s  lieutenant.” 

Tears  of  joy  stood  in  the  young  man’s  eyes,  and  he  grasped 
the  old  man’s  hand  very  warmly. 

“ Then  I shall  go,”  he  said,  “ to  study,  and  try  to  learn  in 
six  months  what  the  pupils  of  the  naval  college  learn  in  six 
years.” 

“Go?”  cried  Ursule,  flying  towards  them  from  the  steps. 


152 


UR SUL E MIROUET. 


“ Yes,  mademoiselle,  to  deserve  you.  So,  the  more  haste 
I put  into  it,  the  more  affection  I shall  show  for  you.” 

“To-day  is  the  3d  of  October,”  said  she,  looking  at  him 
with  infinite  tenderness.  “ Start  after  the  19th.” 

“Yes,”  said  the  old  man;  “we  will  keep  the  feast  of 
Saint-Savinien.” 

“ Then,  good-by,”  exclaimed  the  youth.  “ I must  spend 
this  week  in  Paris  to  take  the  preliminary  steps,  make  my 
preparations,  and  buy  the  books  and  the  mathematical  instru- 
ments I need ; to  make  my  way,  too,  in  the  minister’s  good 
graces,  and  win  the  most  favorable  conditions  possible.” 

Ursule  and  her  godfather  went  with  Savinien  to  the  gate. 
After  seeing  him  go  into  his  mother’s  house,  they  saw  him 
come  out  again,  followed  by  Tiennette,  carrying  a little  port- 
manteau. 

“ Why,  if  you  are  rich,  do  you  compel  him  to  serve  in  the 
navy?  ” said  Ursule  to  the  doctor. 

“ I believe  you  will  soon  think  it  was  I who  contracted  his 
debts  !”  said  her  uncle,  smiling.  “I  do  not  compel  him. 
But,  my  darling,  a uniform  and  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of 
Honor  won  in  battle  will  wipe  out  many  a smirch.  In  four 
years  he  may  rise  to  command  a ship,  and  that  is  all  I ask 
of  him.” 

“ But  he  may  be  killed,”  she  said,  showing  the  doctor  a 
white  face. 

“ Lovers,  like  drunkards,  have  a Providence  of  their  own,” 
replied  the  doctor  lightly. 

The  poor  child,  unknown  to  her  godfather,  cut  off  at  night 
enough  of  her  beautiful  long  fair  hair  to  make  a chain  ; then, 
two  days  later,  she  persuaded  her  music-master,  old  Schmucke, 
to  promise  that  he  would  see  that  the  hair  was  not  changed, 
and  that  the  chain  should  be  finished  for  the  following 
Sunday. 

On  Savinien’s  return,  he  informed  the  doctor  and  his  ward 
that  he  had  signed  his  papers ; he  was  to  be  at  Brest  by  the 


THE  MIN O RET  PROPERTY. 


153 


25th.  As  the  doctor  invited  him  to  dinner  on  the  18th,  he 
spent  almost  the  whole  of  two  days  at  his  house  ; and,  in  spite 
of  the  most  prudent  warnings,  the  lovers  could  not  hinder 
themselves  from  betraying  their  mutual  understanding  to  the 
cure,  the  justice,  the  town  doctor,  and  La  Bougival. 

“Children,”  said  the  old  man,  “you  are  risking  your 
happiness  by  not  keeping  your  secret  to  yourselves.” 

At  last,  on  the  fete  day,  after  mass,  during  which  they  had 
exchanged  glances,  Savinien,  watched  for  by  Ursule,  crossed 
the  street  and  came  into  the  little  garden,  where  they  found 
themselves  almost  alone.  To  indulge  them,  the  good  man  sat 
reading  his  paper  in  the  Chinese  pavilion. 

“ Dear  Ursule,”  said  Savinien,  “ will  you  give  me  a greater 
boon  than  my  mother  could  if  she  were  to  give  me  life  a 
second  time  ? ” 

“I  know  what  you  would  ask  me,”  said  Ursule,  interrupt- 
ing him.  “ Here,  this  is  my  answer,”  she  added,  as  she  took 
out  of  the  pocket  of  her  apron  the  chain  made  of  her  hair, 
and  gave  it  him  with  a nervous  trembling  that  betrayed  her 
excessive  joy.  “Wear  this  for  my  sake,”  she  said.  “May 
my  gift  avert  from  you  every  peril  by  reminding  you  that  my 
life  is  one  with  yours  ! ” 

“ Ah,  the  little  rogue ! she  is  giving  him  a chain  of  her 
hair,”  said  the  doctor  to  himself.  “ How  could  she  do  it? 
Cut  her  beautiful  fair  hair ! Why,  she  would  give  him  my 
blood!” 

“And  will  you  think  it  very  odious  of  me  if  I ask  you,  be- 
fore we  part,  to  give  me  your  formal  promise  that  you  will  never 
have  any  husband  but  me?  ” said  Savinien,  kissing  the  chain, 
and  looking  at  Ursule,  while  he  could  not  restrain  one  tear. 

“ If  I have  not  told  you  so  too  plainly  already — I who  went 
to  gaze  at  the  walls  of  a prison  when  you  were  inside,”  she 
answered  with  a deep  blush,  “ I repeat  it  now,  Savinien.  I 
shall  never  love  any  one  but  you,  and  will  never  marry  any 
one  else.” 


154 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


Seeing  that  Ursule  was  half-hidden  among  the  creepers,  the 
young  man  could  not  resist  the  pleasure  of  clasping  her  to  his 
heart  and  kissing  her  forehead;  but  she  gave  a low  scream 
and  dropped  on  to  the  bench ; and  when  Savinien  sat  down 
by  her,  imploring  her  pardon,  he  saw  the  doctor  standing  in 
front  of  them. 

“My  good  fellow,”  said  he,  “Ursule  is  a sensitive  plant; 
a hard  word  might  kill  her.  For  her  sake  you  should  mod- 
erate the  expression  of  your  love.  Ah  ! if  you  had  loved  her 
for  fifteen  years,  you  would  have  taken  her  word,”  he  added, 
in  revenge  for  the  last  words  of  Savinien’s  letter. 

Two  days  later  Savinien  left.  In  spite  of  the  letters  he 
wrote  regularly  to  Ursule,  she  was  a victim  to  a malady  that 
had  no  evident  cause.  Like  a fine  fruit  attacked  by  a maggot, 
one  thought  was  eating  her  heart  out.  She  lost  her  appetite 
and  her  bright  color.  When  her  godfather  first  asked  her  how 
she  was  feeling — 

“ I want  to  see  the  sea,”  she  said. 

“It  is  difficult  to  take  you  to  a seaport  in  the  month  of 
December  ? ” said  the  old  man. 

“Then  shall  I go?”  said  she. 

If  the  wind  was  high,  Ursule  was  in  agonies,  believing,  in 
spite  of  the  learned  observations  of  her  godfather,  - the  cure, 
and  the  justice,  that  Savinien  was  warring  with  a hurricane. 
The  justice  made  her  happy  for  a few  days  with  a print  repre- 
senting a naval  cadet  in  his  uniform.  She  read  the  news- 
papers, believing  that  they  would  give  her  news  of  the  cruise 
in  which  Savinien  was  engaged.  She  devoured  the  seafaring 
novels  of  Cooper,  and  learned  the  meaning  of  sea  words. 
These  proofs  of  a fixed  idea,  so  often  affected  by  other  women, 
were  so  perfectly  natural  in  Ursule  that  she  foresaw  in  a dream 
every  letter  from  Savinien,  and  never  failed  to  predict  their 
arrival  by  relating  the  premonitory  dream. 

“Now,”  said  she  to  the  doctor,  on  the  fourth  occasion 


THE  MINORET  PROPERTY. 


155 


when  this  had  happened  without  the  doctor  and  the  cure 
being  at  all  surprised  ; “ now,  I am  easy ; however  far  away 
Savinien  may  be,  if  he  were  wounded,  I should  feel  it  at  the 
same  moment.” 

The  old  physician  sat  plunged  in  deep  meditation,  which, 
to  judge  from  the  expression  of  his  face,  the  justice  and  the 
cure  thought  must  be  sorrowful. 

“ What  is  wrong?”  they  asked  him,  when  Ursule  had  left 
them  together. 

‘‘Will  she  live?”  replied  the  old  doctor.  “Can  so  frail 
and  tender  a flower  withstand  the  anguish  of  her  heart?” 

Meanwhile  the  “little  dreamer,”  as  the  cure  called  her, 
worked  indefatigably ; she  understood  the  importance  to  a 
woman  of  the  world  of  extensive  information ; and  when  she 
was  not  studying  singing,  harmony,  or  composition,  she  spent 
her  time  in  reading  the  books  chosen  for  her  in  her  godfather’s 
extensive  library. 

While  leading  this  busy  life  she  suffered  much,  but  she  did 
not  complain.  Sometimes  she  would  sit  for  hours  gazing  at 
Savinien’s  window  opposite.  On  Sunday,  as  she  came  from 
church,  she  followed  Madame  de  Portenduere,  watching  her 
tenderly,  for  in  spite  of  her  sternness  she  loved  her  as  being 
Savinien’s  mother.  Her  piety  was  doubled  ; she  went  to  mass 
every  morning,  for  she  firmly  believed  that  her  dreams  were  a 
special  grace  from  God. 

Alarmed  by  the  ravages  of  this  nostalgia  of  love,  on 
Ursule’s  birthday  her  godfather  promised  to  take  her  to 
Toulon  to  see  the  departure  of  the  fleet  for  Algiers  without 
announcing  their  purpose  to  Savinien,  who  was  sailing  with  it. 
The  justice  and  the  cure  kept  the  secret  of  the  doctor’s  inten- 
tions with  regard  to  this  journey,  which  seemed  to  be  under- 
taken for  the  benefit  of  Ursule’s  health,  and  which  puzzled 
the  heirs  very  greatly. 

After  having  seen  Savinien  once  more  in  his  uniform,  and 
after  going  on  board  the  fine  flagship  of  the  admiral,  to  whom 

S 


156 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


the  minister  had  especially  recommended  young  Portendudre, 
Ursule,  at  her  friend’s  desire,  went  to  inhale  the  soft  air  of 
Nice,  and  traveled  along  the  Mediterranean  coast  as  far  as 
Genoa,  where  she  had  news  of  the  arrival  of  the  fleet  before 
Algiers  and  a good  report  of  the  landing.  The  doctor  would 
gladly  have  continued  the  journey  across  Italy,  as  much  to 
divert  Ursule’s  mind  as  to  complete  her  education  and  enlarge 
her  ideas  by  comparing  manners  and  scenery,  and  by  the 
delights  of  a land  where  the  greatest  works  of  art  are  to  be 
seen,  and  where  so  many  civilizations  have  left  glorious  traces  ; 
but  the  news  of  the  opposition  to  the  throne  shown  by  the 
electors  of  the  famous  Chamber  of  1830  called  him  back  to 
France,  whither  he  brought  his  ward  home  in  a blooming  state 
of  health,  and  happy  in  the  possession  of  a small  model  of 
the  ship  on  which  Savinien  was  serving. 

The  elections  of  1830  gave  cohesion  to  the  Minoret  heirs; 
for,  by  the  advice  of  Goupil  and  of  Desire  Minoret,  they 
formed  a committee  at  Nemours,  by  whose  efforts  the  Liberal 
candidate  was  returned  for  Fontainebleau.  Massin  exerted 
immense  influence  over  the  country  voters.  Five  of  the  post- 
master’s farmers  also  had  votes.  Dionis  represented  more  than 
eleven  votes.  By  meeting  at  the  notary’s,  Cremiere,  Massin, 
the  postmaster,  and  their  adherents  got  into  a habit  of  assem- 
bling there.  On  the  doctor’s  return,  Dionis’  room  had  thus 
become  their  camping  ground. 

The  justice  and  the  mayor,  who  then  combined  to  resist 
the  Liberals  of  Nemours,  were  beaten  by  the  Opposition  in 
spite  of  the  efforts  of  the  gentry  in  the  neighborhood,  and 
their  defeat  bound  them  very  closely  together.  When  Bon- 
grand  and  the  Abbe  Chaperon  told  the  doctor  of  the  result  of 
this  antagonism,  which  had  divided  Nemours,  for  the  first  time, 
into  two  parties,  and  had  given  importance  to  his  next-of-kin, 
Charles  X.  was  actually  leaving  Rambouillet  for  Cherbourg. 
Desire  Minoret,  whose  opinions  were  those  of  the  Paris  bar, 
had  invited  fifteen  of  his  friends,  with  Goupil  at  their  head, 


THE  MI  NO  RET  PROPERTY. 


157 


to  come  from  Nemours  ; the  postmaster  gave  them  horses  to 
hurry  to  Paris,  where  they  joined  Desire  on  the  night  of  the 
28th  of  July.  Desire  and  Goupil  led  this  little  troop  to 
assist  in  the  seizure  of  the  Hotel  de  Ville  (Town  Hall). 

Desire  Minoret  received  the  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor, 
and  was  appointed  deputy  to  the  public  prosecutor  at  Fon- 
tainebleau. Goupil  won  the  cross  of  July.  Dionis  was 
elected  mayor  of  Nemours,  in  the  place  of  the  Sieur  Levrault, 
and  the  town  council  was  then  composed  of  Minoret-Levrault, 
deputy-mayor,  of  Massin,  Cremiere,  and  all  the  followers  of 
Dionis. 

Bongrand  only  kept  his  appointment  as  justice  by  the  influ- 
ence of  his  son,  who  was  made  public  prosecutor  at  Melun, 
his  marriage  with  Mademoiselle  Levrault  seeming  at  that  time 
probable. 

When  three  per  cents,  were  down  to  forty-five,  the  doctor 
set  out  by  post  to  Paris,  and  invested  five  hundred  and  forty 
thousand  francs  in  certificates  to  the  bearer.  The  rest  of  his 
fortune,  amounting  to  about  two  hundred  and  seventy  thousand 
francs,  placed  likewise  in  the  funds,  yielded  nominally  fifteen 
thousand  francs  a year.  He  invested  in  the  same  way  the 
money  left  to  Ursule  by  the  old  professor,  as  well  as  the 
eight  thousand  francs  of  nine  years’  accumulated  interest, 
which,  with  the  help  of  a small  addition  on  his  part  to 
make  it  up-  to  a round  sum,  brought  in  fourteen  hundred ' 
francs  a year  to  his  ward.  In  obedience  to  her  master’s 
advice,  La  Bougival  also  would  get  three  hundred  and  fifty 
francs  a year  by  investing  in  the  same  way  her  five  thousand 
and  odd  francs  of  savings.  These  prudent  steps,  as  planned 
by  the  doctor  and  his  friend  Bongrand,  were  taken  in  perfect 
secrecy  under  favor  of  the  political  excitement.  When  calm 
was  more  or  less  restored,  the  doctor  purchased  a little  house 
adjoining  his  own,  and  pulled  it  down,  as  well  as  the  wall  of 
his  courtyard,  to  construct  on  the  ground  a coach-house  and 
stables.  That  he  should  spend  capital  bearing  a thousand 


158 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


francs  interest  seemed  to  all  the  Minoret  heirs  pure  insanity. 
This  supposed  craziness  was  the  beginning  of  a new  era  in  the 
doctor’s  life ; at  a moment  when  horses  and  carriages  were 
being  almost  given  away,  he  brought  from  Paris  three  fine 
horses  and  a chariot. 

The  first  time  the  old  man  came  to  mass  in  a carriage,  on 
a rainy  day  at  the  beginning  of  November,  1830,  and  got  out 
to  give  his  hand  to  Ursule,  all  the  townsfolk  rushed  to  the 
square,  as  much  to  see  the  doctor’s  carriage  and  cross-question 
the  coachman,  as  to  comment  on  his  ward,  to  whose  excessive 
ambition  Massin,  Cremiere,  and  the  postmaster  ascribed  their 
uncle’s  follies. 

“ A chariot  ! heh,  Massin  ? ” cried  Goupil.  “ Your  inherit- 
ance promises  well,  hein  ! ” 

“ You  asked  good  wages,  I suppose,  Cabirolle?”  said  the 
postmaster  to  the  son  of  one  of  his  guards,  who  took  charge 
of  the  horses,  “ for  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  you  will  not  see  many 
horseshoes  worn  through  in  the  service  of  a man  of  eighty. 
How  much  did  those  horses  cost  ? ” 

“ Four  thousand  francs.  The  chariot,  though  second-hand, 
cost  him  two  thousand ; but  it  is  a good  one.  The  wheels 
have  the  patent  axle-box.” 

“ What  do  you  call  it,  Cabirolle?”  asked  Madame  Cre- 
miere. 

“ He  says  they  have  latent  axle-hocks,”  replied  Goupil. 
“ It  is  an  English  notion  ; they  invented  those  wheels.  Look 
how  neat  it  is;  all  covered  up,  nothing  to  be  seen,  nothing 
to  catch,  no  ugly  square  iron  peg  projecting  beyond  the  axle.” 

“ What  does  axer-hock  mean,  then?”  asked  Madame  Cre- 
miere very  innocently. 

“Surely,”  said  Goupil,  “you  need  hardly  axe  that.” 

“Ah  ! I understand,”  said  she. 

“No,  no;  you  are  a good  soul,”  said  Goupil.  “It  is  a 
shame  to  take  you  in.  The  real  word  is  patent  axe-locks, 
because  you  must  axe  how  it  is  fastened.” 


THE  MINORET  PROPERTY. 


159 


“ That’s  it,  madame,”  said  Cabirolle,  who  was  himself 
taken  in  by  Goupil’s  explanation,  the  clerk  spoke  with  such 
gravity. 

“It  is  a handsome  carriage,  at  any  rate,”  said  Cremiere, 
“ and  he  must  be  rich  to  set  up  in  such  style.” 

“She  is  going  ahead,  that  little  girl  ! ” remarked  Goupil. 
“ But  she  is  right ; she  is  showing  you  how  to  enjoy  life. 
Why  have  you  not  fine  horses  and  chariots — you,  Father 
Minoret?  Will  you  submit  to  be  humiliated?  In  your  place 
I would  have  a coach  like  a prince’s.” 

“I  say,  Cabirolle,”  said  Massin,  “is  it  the  little  girl  who 
puts  my  uncle  up  to  all  this  luxury  ? ” 

“I  don’t  know,”  replied  Cabirolle,  “but  she  is,  so  to 
speak,  mistress  of  the  whole  place.  And  now  master  after 
master  comes  from  Paris.  She  is  to  learn  to  paint,  they  say.” 

“I  will  take  the  opportunity  of  having  my  likeness  done,” 
said  Madame  Cremiere.  Country  folks  still  speak  of  having 
a likeness  done  instead  of  a portrait  taken.  / 

“But  the  old  German  is  not  dismissed,”  said  Madame 
Massin. 

“No,  he  is  here  to-day,”  replied  Cabirolle. 

“ There  is  safety  in  numbers,”  observed  Madame  Cremiere, 
making  everybody  laugh. 

“You  need  no  longer  count  on  the  inheritance,”  cried 
Goupil.  “,Ursule  is  nearly  seventeen;  she  is  prettier  than 
ever;  traveling  forms  the  youthful  mind,  and  she  knows  the 
length  of  your  uncle’s  foot.  The  coach  brings  her  five  of 
six  parcels  a week,  and  dressmakers  and  milliners  are  always 
coming  to  try  her  gowns  and  things.  My  mistress  is  furious, 
I can  tell  you.  Just  wait  till  Ursule  comes  out,  and  look  at 
her  little  neckerchief — a real  India  square,  that  must  have 
cost  six  hundred  francs.” 

If  a thunderbolt  had  fallen  in  their  midst,  it  could  not 
have  produced  a greater  effect  on  the  group  of  inheritors  than 
this  speech  from  Goupil,  who  rubbed  his  hands. 


160 


UR  SUL  E MIROUET. 


The  doctor’s  old  green  drawing-room  was  redecorated  by 
an  upholsterer  from  Paris.  Judged  by  the  prodigality  of  his 
outlay,  the  doctor  was  accused  first  of  having  concealed  the 
amount  of  his  fortune  and  of  having  sixty  thousand  francs  a 
year,  and  then  of  spending  his  capital  to  humor  Ursule.  He 
was  regarded  alternately  as  a millionaire  and  a spendthrift. 
“ He  is  an  old  fool ! ” summed  up  the  opinion  of  the  neigh- 
bors. The  misguided  verdict  of  the  little  town  had  this  ad- 
vantage : it  deceived  the  next-of-kin,  who  never  suspected 
Savinien’s  love  for  Ursule,  which  was  the  real  cause  of  the 
doctor's  expenditure,  for  he  was  enchanted  to  accustom  his 
goddaughter  to  play  her  part  as  a vicomtesse ; and  having  an 
income  now  of  fifty  thousand  francs,  he  indulged  himself  in 
the  pleasure  of  beautifying  his  idol. 

In  the  month  of  February,  1832,  on  the  day  when  Ursule 
was  seventeen,  as  she  rose  in  the  morning  she  saw  Savinien  at 
his  window  in  his  sub-lieutenant’s  uniform. 

“ How  is  it  that  I knew  nothing  about  it?  ” she  asked  her- 
self. 

After  the  taking  of  Algiers,  where  Savinien  had  distin- 
guished himself  by  a deed  of  valor  that  had  won  him  the 
cross,  the  corvette  on  which  he  sailed  having  remained  at  sea 
for  many  months,  he  had  been  quite  unable  to  send  a letter 
to  the  doctor,  and  he  did  not  choose  to  retire  from  the  service 
without  consulting  him.  The  new  government,  wishing  to 
keep  so  illustrious  a name  on  the  navy-list,  had  taken  advan- 
tage of  the  general  scramble  of  July  to  promote  Savinien. 
Having  obtained  a fortnight’s  leave,  the  young  lieutenant  had 
come  by  mail  from  Toulon  in  time  for  Ursule’s  birthday,  and 
to  ask  the  doctor’s  advice  at  the  same  time. 

“ He  is  come  ! ” cried  the  girl,  rushing  into  her  godfather’s 
room. 

“That  is  well,”  he  replied.  “I  can  guess  his  reason  for 
quitting  the  service;  he  can  now  remain  at  Nemours.” 


THE  MINORET  PROPERTY. 


161 


“This  is  my  birthday  treat!  It  is  all  in  those  words  ! ” 
she  exclaimed,  throwing  her  arms  arouud  the  doctor’s  neck 
and  kissing  him. 

In  reply  to  a signal  she  made  him,  Savinien  came  across  at 
once.  She  wanted  to  admire  him ; he  seemed  to  her  changed 
for  the  better.  In  fact,  military  discipline  gives  to  a man’s 
gestures,  gait,  and  demeanor  a mixture  of  gravity  and  decis- 
ion, a certain  rectitude,  which  enables  the  most  superficial 
observer  to  recognize  a soldier  under  a civilian’s  coat ; noth- 
ing can  more  clearly  prove  that  man  is  made  to  command. 
Ursule  loved  Savinien  all  the  more  for  it,  and  felt  a child’s 
delight  in  walking  arm  in  arm  with  him  in  the  little  garden, 
while  she  made  him  tell  her  the  part  he  had  played  “ in  his 
capacity  of  naval  cadet”  in  the  siege  of  Algiers.  Evidently 
it  was  Savinien  who  had  taken  Algiers.  She  saw  everything 
red,  she  declared,  when  she  looked  at  Savinien’s  decoration. 
The  doctor,  who,  while  dressing  in  his  room,  watched  the  pair, 
presently  joined  them.  Then,  without  telling  the  Vicomte 
everything,  he  explained  to  him  that  in  the  event  of  Madame 
de  Portenduere’s  consenting  to  his  marriage  with  Ursule,  his 
goddaughter’s  fortune  was  such  as  to  make  his  pay  superfluous 
in  any  rank  he  might  be  promoted  to. 

“ Alas  ! ” said  Savinien,  “ it  will  take  a long  time  to  over- 
come my  mother’s  opposition.  Before  I left,  when  she  had 
the  alternative  of  keeping  me  near  her  if  she  would  agree  to 
my  marrying  Ursule,  or  of  seeing  me  only  at  long  intervals, 
and  knowing  that  I was  exposed  to  the  risk  of  my  profession, 
she  let  me  go ” 

“But,  Savinien,  we  shall  be  together,”  said  Ursule,  taking 
his  hand  and  shaking  it  with  a kind  of  irritation. 

That  they  should  see  each  other  and  never  part  was  to  her 
the  sum-total  of  love ; she  saw  nothing  beyond  ; and  her 
pretty  impatience  and  the  petulance  of  her  tone  expressed 
such  perfect  innocence  that  the  doctor  and  Savinien  were 
touched. 

11 


162 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


Savinien,  after  his  consultation  with  the  doctor,  sent  in  his 
letter  of  resignation,  and  Ursule’s  birthday  was  crowned  with 
joy  by  her  lover’s  presence. 

A few  months  later,  by  the  beginning  of  May,  Doctor 
Minoret’s  home  life  had  settled  into  calm  regularity  again, 
but  with  another  constant  visitor.  The  young  Vicomte’s 
assiduity  was  at  once  interpreted  as  that  of  a future  bride- 
groom ; all  the  more  so  since,  whether  at  mass  or  out  walk- 
ing, his  manner  and  Ursule’s  plainly  betrayed  the  mutual 
understanding  of  their  hearts.  Dionis  remarked  to  the  heirs 
that  the  old  man  never  claimed  interest  from  Madame  de 
Portenduere,  who  already  owed  it  for  three  years. 

“ She  will  be  forced  to  give  in,  to  consent  to  her  son’s  mar- 
rying beneath  him,”  said  the  notary.  “ If  such  a misfortune 
should  happen,  it  is  probable  that  the  larger  part  of  your 
uncle’s  fortune  will  prove,  as  Basile  says,  an  irresistible  argu- 
ment.” 

When  the  expectant  heirs  understood  that  the  old  man’s 
preference  for  Ursule  was  too  great  for  him  not  to  secure  her 
happiness  at  their  expense,  their  wrath  became  as  cunning  as 
it  was  deep.  Every  evening  since  the  revolution  of  July  had 
seen  them  meet  at  Dionis’  house,  and  there  they  cursed  the 
lovers ; and  the  evening  hardly  ever  ended  without  their  hav- 
ing tried  in  vain  to  hit  on  some  way  of  thwarting  the  old 
man.  Zelie,  who  had,  no  doubt,  like  the  doctor,  taken 
advantage  of  the  fall  in  the  funds  to  invest  her  enormous  sav- 
ings, was  the  most  furious  against  the  orphan  and  the  Porten- 
dueres.  One  evening,  when  Goupil — who,  however,  as  a 
rule,  took  care  not  to  spend  his  evenings  too  dully — had 
come  in  to  pick  up  some  information  as  to  the  affairs  of  the 
town,  which  were  under  discussion,  Zelie  had  a recrudescence 
of  hatred.  She  had  that  morning  seen  the  doctor,  with 
Ursule  and  Savinien,  returning  from  a drive  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, with  an  appearance  of  intimacy  that  told  all. 

i(  I would  give  thirty  thousand  francs,  gladly,  if  only  God 


THE  MINORET  PROPERTY. 


163 


would  take  our  uncle  to  Himself  before  that  Portenduere  and 
that  little  minx  could  be  married,”  said  she. 

Goupil  walked  home  with  Monsieur  and  Madame  Minoret ; 
and  when  they  were  in  the  middle  of  their  vast  courtyard,  he 
said,  looking  suspiciously  about  him  to  make  sure  that  they 
were  alone : 

“ Will  you  give  me  money  enough  to  buy  Dionis  out  of  his 
business,  if  I will  see  that  the  marriage  of  Monsieur  de  Por- 
tenduere is  broken  off?  ” 

“ How?  ” asked  the  colossus. 

“Do  you  think  I am  fool  enough  to  tell  you  my  plan  ? ” 
replied  the  clerk. 

“ Well,  my  boy,  make  them  quarrel,  and  we  will  see,”  said 
Zelie. 

“ I am  not  going  to  plunge  into  such  a job  on  the  strength 
of  ‘ we  will  see.’  The  young  gentleman  is  hot-headed,  and 
might  kill  me ; and  I must  be  well  rough-shod,  and  his  match 
with  the  rapier  and  pistol.  Set  me  up  in  life,  and  I will  keep 
my  word.” 

“Stop  the  marriage,  and  I will  set  you  up,”  retorted  the 
postmaster. 

“For  nine  months  now  you  have  been  debating  whether 
you  will  lend  me  a wretched  fifteen  thousand  francs  to  buy 
Lecoeur’s  business — the  usher’s — and  you  expect  me  to  take 
your  word  ? Get  along  ! You  will  lose  your  uncle’s  fortune  ; 
and  serve  you  right  ! ” 

“ If  it  were  only  a matter  of  fifteen  thousand  francs  and 
Lecoeur’s  business,  I should  not  say  no,”  replied  Zelie;  “but 
to  be  security  for  fifty  thousand  crowns ! ” 

“But  I will  repay  you,”  said  Goupil,  with  a fascinating 
leer  at  Zelie,  which  the  postmistress  met  with  an  imperious 
stare. 

It  was  like  vitriol  on  steel. 

“ We  will  wait,”  said  Zelie. 

“ Possessed  by  the  genius  of  evil ! ” thought  Goupil.  “ If 


164 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


ever  I get  hold  of  these  two,”  said  he  to  himself  as  he  went 
away,  “I  will  squeeze  them  like  lemons ! ” 

Savinien,  while  cultivating  the  society  of  the  doctor,  the 
justice,  and  the  cure,  showed  them  the  excellence  of  his  char- 
acter. The  young  man’s  love  for  Ursule,  so  absolutely  dis- 
interested, so  constant,  appealed  so  strongly  to  the  three 
friends  that  they  no  longer  separated  the  two  young  people  in 
their  thoughts.  Before  long  the  monotony  of  this  patriarchal 
life,  and  the  confidence  the  lovers  felt  in  their  future,  had 
given  their  affection  a fraternal  aspect.  The  doctor  often  left 
Savinien  and  Ursule  together.  He  had  rightly  estimated  the 
admirable  young  man  who  kissed  Ursule’s  hand  when  he 
entered,  and  would  never  have  asked  such  a privilege  when 
alone  with  her,  so  deep  was  his  respect  for  the  innocence  and 
candor  of  the  child  ; and  the  extreme  sensitiveness  which  she 
had  often  betrayed  had  taught  him  that  a harsh  word,  a cold 
look,  or  alternations  of  gentleness  and  roughness  might  kill 
her.  The  utmost  boldness  of  the  lovers  always  showed  itself 
in  the  presence  of  the  old  men  in  the  evening. 

Two  years,  full  of  secret  delight,  thus  slipped  away,  un- 
broken by  any  event  but  the  useless  efforts  of  the  young  man 
to  obtain  his  mother’s  consent  to  his  marriage  with  Ursule. 
He  would  sometimes  talk  for  the  whole  morning,  his  mother 
listening  to  his  entreaties  and  arguments,  but  making  no  reply 
but  by  the  obstinate  silence  of  a Bretonne  or  by  curt  refusals. 

At  nineteen,  Ursule,  elegant,  well  educated,  and  an  excel- 
lent musician,  had  nothing  more  to  learn ; she  was  perfection. 
And  she  had  a reputation  for  beauty,  grace,  and  information 
which  reached  far  and  wide.  One  day  the  doctor  had  to 
refuse  the  proposals  of  the  Marquise  d’Aiglemont,  who  would 
have  married  her  to  her  eldest  son.  Six  months  later,  in  spite 
of  the  absolute  silence  preserved  by  Ursule,  by  her  guardian, 
and  by  Madame  d’Aiglemont,  Savinien  heard  by  chance  of 
this  affair.  Touched  by  such  delicate  conduct,  he  spoke  of  it 


THE  MI  NO  RET  PROPERTY. 


165 


as  an  argument  to  overcome  his  mother’s  aversion,  but  she 
would  only  say — 

“ If  the  d’  Aiglemonts  choose  to  marry  beneath  them,  is 
that  any  reason  why  we  should  ? M 

In  the  month  of  December,  1834,  the  worthy  and  pious 
old  man  was  visibly  breaking.  As  they  saw  him  come  out  of 
church,  his  face  pinched  and  yellow,  his  eyes  dim,  all  the 
town  began  to  speak  of  his  approaching  end,  for  the  good 
man  was  now  eighty-eight  years  of  age. 

“ Now  you  will  know  where  you  stand,”  they  said  to  the 
heirs. 

The  doctor’s  death  had,  in  fact,  the  fascination  of  a prob- 
lem. But  the  old  man  did  not  think  that  he  was  ill ; he  had 
illusions  on  the  subject,  and  neither  poor  Ursule,  nor  Savinien, 
nor  Monsieur  Bongrand,  nor  the  cure,  could,  in  decency, 
explain  his  danger  to  him  ; the  town  doctor  of  Nemours,  who 
came  to  see  him  every  evening,  dared  prescribe  nothing  more. 
Old  Minoret  felt  no  pain ; he  was  gently  burning  out.  In 
him  the  intellect  remained  clear,  strong,  and  exact.  In  old 
men  of  this  stamp  the  soul  is  potent  over  the  body,  and  gives 
it  strength  to  die  standing.  To  postpone  the  fatal  hour,  the 
cure  granted  his  parishioner  a dispensation  from  attending 
mass  at  church,  and  allowed  him  to  read  prayers  at  home,  for 
the  doctor  carefully  fulfilled  all  his  religious  duties  ; the  nearer 
he  was  to  the  grave,  the  more  he  loved  God. 

At  the  New  Year,  Ursule  persuaded  him  to  sell  his  carriage 
and  horses,  and  dismiss  Cabirolle.  The  justice,  whose  un- 
easiness as  to  Ursule’s  prospects  was  far  from  being  lulled  by 
the  old  man’s  half-confidences,  touched  on  the  delicate 
question  of  his  fortune,  explaining  to  him  one  evening  the 
necessity  for  making  Ursule  independent  by  law,  by  declaring 
her  to  be  of  age.  She  would  then  be  competent  to  receive 
an  account  of  his  guardianship  and  possess  property;  this 
would  enable  him  to  leave  her  money.  In  spite  of  this 


166 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


opening,  the  old  man,  though  he  had  formerly  consulted  the 
justice,  did  not  confide  to  him  what  his  purpose  was  with 
regard  to  Ursule ; however,  he  formally  declared  her  of  age. 
The  more  eager  the  lawyer  showed  himself  to  know  what 
steps  his  old  friend  had  taken  to  provide  for  Ursule,  the 
more  suspicious  the  doctor  became.  In  short,  Minoret  was 
actually  afraid  to  confide  to  the  justice  the  secret  of  the 
thirty-six  thousand  francs  in  bonds  payable  to  the  bearer 
on  demand. 

“Why,”  said  Bongrand,  “set  chance  against  you?” 

“Of  two  chances,”  replied  the  doctor,  “ one  must  avoid 
’die  most  risky.” 

Bongrand  carried  through  the  matter  of  the  “ emancipa- 
tion ” so  briskly  that  Mademoiselle  Mirouet  was  legally 
independent  on  the  day  when  she  was  twenty.  This  anni- 
versary was  destined  to  be  the  last  festival  kept  by  the  old 
doctor,  who,  feeling  no  doubt  some  presentiment  of  his 
approaching  end,  celebrated  the  occasion  magnificently  by 
giving  a little  ball,  to  which  he  invited  the  young  people 
of  the  four  families  of  Dionis,  Cremiere,  Minoret,  and  Mas- 
sin.  Savinien,  Bongrand,  the  cure  and  his  two  assistant 
priests,  the  town  doctor,  Mesdames  Zelie  Minoret,  Massin, 
and  Cremiere,  with  old  Schmucke,  were  his  guests  at  a grand 
dinner  before  the  dance. 

“ I feel  that  I have  not  long  to  stay,”  said  the  old  man  to  the 
notary  towards  the  end  of  the  evening.  “ I beg  you  to  come 
to-morrow  to  draw  up  the  report  and  accounts  I have  to  hand 
over  to  Ursule  as  her  guardian,  so  as  to  avoid  all  complica- 
tions after  my  death.  Thank  God,  I have  not  robbed  my 
heirs  of  a sou,  and  have  spent  nothing  but  my  income. 
Messieurs  Cremiere,  Massin,  and  my  nephew  Minoret  are 
the  family  trustees  appointed  for  Ursule,  and  they  must  be 
present  at  the  auditing  of  the  account.” 

These  words,  overheard  by  Massin,  and  repeated  in  the 
ballroom,  filled  the  three  families  with  joy,  after  they  had 


THE  MI  NO  RET  PROPERTY. 


167 


spent  three  years  in  constant  alternations  of  feeling,  believing 
themselves  sometimes  rich  and  sometimes  disinherited. 

“It  is  a lamp  flying  out,”  said  Madame  Cremiere.  (She 
meant  dying  out.) 

When,  at  about  two  in  the  morning,  no  one  remained  in 
the  room  but  Savinien,  Bongrand,  and  the  Abbe  Chaperon, 
the  old  doctor  said,  as  he  pointed  to  Ursule,  lovely  in  her 
ball-dress,  having  just  said  good-night  to  the  young  Cremiere 
and  Massin  girls — 

“ I place  her  in  your  hands,  my  friends.  In  a few  days  I 
shall  no  longer  be  here  to  protect  her;  stand  between  her 
and  the  world  until  she  is  married — I am  afraid  for  her ” 

These  words  made  a painful  impression.  The  account 
drawn  up  and  read  a few  days  later  in  the  presence  of  a family 
council  proved  that  Doctor  Minoret  was  indebted  to  Ursule 
in  the  sum  of  ten  thousand  six  hundred  francs,  partly  as 
arrears  of  the  shares  bearing  interest  to  the  amount  of 
fourteen  thousand  francs,  which  was  accounted  for  by  the 
investment  of  Captain  de  Jordy’s  legacy,  and  partly  as  a 
small  capital  of  five  thousand  francs  derived  from  certain 
gifts  made  to  his  ward  during  the  last  fifteen  years,  on  their 
respective  birthdays  or  namedays. 

This  authenticated  schedule  of  the  account  had  been  ad- 
vised by  the  justice,  who  feared  what  might  be  the  result  of 
the  old  man’s  death  ; and,  unhappily,  not  without  reason. 
The  day  after  the  account  was  passed  which  made  Ursule  the 
mistress  of  ten  thousand  six  hundred  francs  in  shares  and  of 
fourteen  hundred  francs  a year,  the  doctor  had  an  attack  of 
weakness  which  compelled  him  to  keep  his  bed. 

It  spite  of  the  caution  which  shrouded  the  house,  a rumor 
spread  in  the  town  that  he  was  dead,  and  the  heirs  flew  about 
the  streets  like  the  beads  of  a rosary  of  which  the  thread  is 
snapped.  Massin,  who  came  to  inquire,  heard  from  Ursule 
herself  that  the  old  man  was  in  bed.  Unfortunately,  the 
town  doctor  had  prognosticated  that  when  Minoret  took  to 


168 


URSULE  M/ROUET. 


his  bed  he  would  die  at  once.  From  that  moment  the  whole 
family  stood  posted  in  the  street,  in  the  square,  or  on  their 
front  doorsteps,  in  spite  of  the  cold,  absorbed  in  discussing 
the  long-expected  event,  and  waiting  for  the  moment  when 
the  cure  should  carry  to  the  old  man  the  last  sacraments  with 
all  the  ceremony  usual  in  provincial  towns.  Hence,  when 
two  days  later  the  Abbe  Chaperon  crossed  the  High  Street, 
accompanied  by  his  curate  and  the  choir  boys,  the  inheritors 
followed  him  to  take  possession  of  the  house  and  prevent  any- 
thing being  removed,  and  to  clutch  with  greedy  hands  all  the 
imaginary  treasure.  When  the  doctor  saw,  beyond  the  clerics, 
all  his  heirs  on  their  knees,  and,  far  from  praying,  watching 
him  with  gleaming  eyes  as  bright  as  the  twinkling  tapers,  he 
could  not  repress  a mischievous  smile.  The  cure  looked 
round,  saw  them,  and  read  the  prayers  very  slowly.  The 
postmaster  was  the  first  to  rise  from  his  uncomfortable  atti- 
tude, his  wife  followed  his  example;  Massin,  fearful  lest  Zelie 
and  her  husband  should  lay  a hand  on  some  little  possession, 
went  after  them  to  the  drawing-room,  and  there,  a few  minutes 
later,  all  the  party  had  assembled. 

“ He  is  too  honest  a man  to  steal  extreme  unction,”  said 
Cremiere  ; “so  we  may  be  easy.” 

“Yes;  we  shall  each  have  about  twenty  thousand  francs  a 
year,”  replied  Madame  Massin. 

“I  have  gotten  it  into  my  head,”  said  Zelie,  “that  for 
the  last  three  years  he  has  not  been  investing ; he  liked  to 
hoard  the  money ” 

“The  treasure  is  in  his  cellar  no  doubt  ? ” said  Massin  to 
Cremiere. 

“If  we  are  so  lucky  as  to  find  anything  at  all  ! ” observed 
Minoret-Levrault. 

“ But  after  what  he  said  at  the  ball,”  cried  Madame  Massin, 
“ there  can  be  no  doubt.” 

“ Whatever  there  may  be,”  said  Cremiere,  “how  shall  we 
proceed?  Shall  we  divide?  Or  put  it  into  the  lawyer’s 


THE  MINORET  PROPERTY. 


169 


hands?  Or  distribute  it  in  lots?  For,  after  all,  we  are  all 
of  age.” 

A discussion,  which  soon  became  acrid,  arose  as  to  the 
method  of  procedure.  At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  a noise  of 
loud  voices,  above  them  all  Zelie’s  shrill  tones,  rang  across 
the  courtyard  out  into  the  street. 

4 4 He  must  be  dead,”  said  the  curious  crowd  that  had  col- 
lected there. 

The  uproar  reached  the  doctor’s  ears,  who  could  hear  these 
words — 

“ But  there  is  the  house  ; the  house  is  worth  thirty  thousand 
francs  ! ” shouted,  or  rather  bellowed,  by  Cremiere. 

“ Very  well,  we  will  pay  for  it  as  much  as  it  is  worth,”  re- 
torted Zelie  sharply. 

“ Monsieur  le  Cure,”  said  the  old  man  to  the  abbe,  who 
had  remained  with  his  friend  after  the  sacrament,  “ let  me  die 
in  peace.  My  heirs,  like  those  of  Cardinal  Ximenes,  are 
capable  of  pillaging  my  house  before  I am  dead,  and  I have 
no  monkey  to  make  restitution.  Go  and  explain  that  I will 
have  no  one  in  the  house.” 

The  cure  and  the  physician  went  downstairs  and  repeated 
the  dying  man’s  orders,  adding,  in  their  indignation,  some 
severe  words  of  reproof. 

“Madame  Bougival,”  said  the  town-doctor,  “shut  the 
gate,  and  let  no  one  in ; a man  cannot  even  die  quietly,  it 
would  seem.  Make  a cup  of  mustard,  to  apply  plasters  to 
Monsieur  Minoret’s  feet.” 

“Your  uncle  is  not  dead;  he  may  live  some  time  yet,” 
said  the  abbe  to  the  family  who  had  brought  all  their  children. 
“He  desires  perfect  silence,  and  will  have  no  one  near  him  but 
his  ward.  What  a difference  between  that  young  creature’s 
conduct  and  yours  ! ” 

“Old  hypocrite!”  cried  Cremiere.  “ I will  keep  guard. 
It  is  quite  possible  that  he  may  plot  something  against  our 
interests.” 


170 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


The  postmaster  had  already  disappeared  into  the  garden, 
intending  to  watch  over  his  uncle  with  Ursule,  and  to  gain 
admission  into  the  house  as  her  assistant.  He  came  back  on 
tiptoe  without  his  boots  making  a sound,  for  there  were  car- 
pets in  the  passages  and  on  the  stairs.  He  thus  came  close 
to  his  uncle’s  door  without  being  heard.  The  cure  and  the 
physician  had  left ; La  Bougival  was  preparing  the  mustard 
plasters. 

“ Are  we  quite  alone  ? ” said  the  old  man  to  his  ward. 

Ursule  stood  on  tiptoe  to  look  out  on  the  courtyard. 

“Yes,”  said  she,  “Monsieur  le  Cure  shut  the  gate  as  he 
went  out.” 

“ My  darling  child,”  said  the  dying  man,  “ my  hours,  my 
minutes  are  numbered.  I have  not  been  a doctor  for  nothing ; 
the  mustard  plasters  recommended  by  the  apothecary  will  not 
carry  me  through  till  to-night.  Do  not  cry,  Ursule,”  he  said, 
finding  himself  interrupted  by  his  ward’s  sobs,  “ but  listen  to 
me : the  point  is  that  you  should  marry  Savinien.  As  soon 
as  La  Bougival  comes  up  with  the  sinapism,  go  down  to  the 
Chinese  pavilion ; here  is  the  key ; lift  up  the  marble  top 
of  the  Boule  cabinet,  and  under  it  you  will  find  a letter 
addressed  to  you ; take  it,  and  come  up  and  show  it  to  me, 
for  I shall  not  die  easy  unless  I know  that  it  is  in  your  hands. 
When  I am  dead,  do  not  at  once  announce  the  fact ; first 
send  for  Monsieur  de  Portenduere,  read  the  letter  together, 
and  swear  to  me  in  his  name  and  in  your  own  that  you  will 
obey  my  last  injunctions.  When  he  has  done  what  I desire, 
you  can  announce  my  death,  and  then  the  comedy  of  the 
inheritance  will  begin.  God  grant  that  those  monsters  may 
not  ill-use  you.” 

“Yes,  godfather.” 

The  postmaster  did  not  wait  for  the  end  of  the  scene ; he 
took  himself  off  on  tiptoe,  remembering  that  the  locked  door 
of  the  pavilion  opened  from  the  book-gallery.  He  himself 
had  been  present  at  the  time  of  a discussion  between  the 


THE  MIN  ORE  T PROPERTY. 


171 


architect  and  the  locksmith,  who  had  insisted  that  if  there 
were  to  be  a way  into  the  house  through  the  window  looking 
out  on  the  river  there  must  be  a lock  to  the  door  leading 
into  the  book  gallery,  the  pavilion  being  a sort  of  summer- 
house. 

Minoret,  his  eyes  dim  with  greed  and  his  blood  singing  in 
his  ears,  unscrewed  the  lock  with  a pocket-knife  as  dexter- 
ously as  a thief.  He  went  into  the  pavilion,  took  the  packet 
of  papers  without  stopping  to  open  it,  replaced  the  lock  and 
restored  order,  and  then  went  to  sit  in  the  dining-room,  wait- 
ing till  La  Bougival  should  be  gone  upstairs  with  the  mustard 
plaster,  to  steal  out  of  the  house.  This  he  achieved  with  all 
the  greater  ease  because  Ursule  thought  it  more  necessary  to 
see  that  the  mustard  was  applied  than  to  obey  her  godfather’s 
injunctions. 

“ The  letter,  the  letter,”  said  the  old  man  in  a dying  voice. 
“ Do  as  I bid  you — there  is  the  key.  I must  see  the  letter  in 
your  hands.  ’ ’ 

He  spoke  with  such  a wild  look  that  La  Bougival  said  to 
Ursule : “ Do  as  your  godfather  tells  you,  at  once,  or  you’ll 
be  the  death  of  him.” 

She  kissed  his  forehead,  took  the  key,  and  went  down,  but 
was  immediately  recalled  by  a piercing  cry  from  La  Bougival, 
and  ran  back.  The  old  man  glanced  at  her,  saw  that  her 
hands  were  empty,  sat  up  in  bed,  and  tried  to  speak — and 
then  died  with  a last  fearful  gasp,  his  eyes  staring  with  terror. 

The  poor  child,  seeing  death  for  the  first  time,  fell  on  her 
knees,  and  melted  into  tears.  La  Bougival  closed  the  old 
man’s  eyes  and  laid  him  straight.  Then,  when  she  had 
“ dressed  the  corpse,”  as  she  said,  she  went  to  call  Monsieur 
Savinien  ; but  the  heirs,  who  were  prowling  at  the  top  of  the 
street,  surrounded  by  an  inquisitive  crowd,  exactly  like  a flock 
of  crows  waiting  till  a horse  is  buried  to  come  and  scratch  up 
the  earth,  and  ferret  with  beak  and  claws,  came  running  in 
with  the  swiftness  of  birds  of  prey. 


172 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


The  postmaster,  meanwhile,  had  gone  home  to  master  the 
contents  of  the  mysterious  packet.  This  was  what  he  read : 

“ To  my  dear  Ursule  Mirouet,  daughter  of  my  illegitimate 
brother-in-law,  Joseph  Mirouet,  and  of  his  wife,  Dinah 
Grollman. 

“ Nemours,  January  15,  1830. 

“My  little  Angel: — My  fatherly  affection,  which  you 
have  so  fully  justified,  is  based  not  merely  on  the  promise  I 
swore  to  your  poor  father  to  fill  his  place,  but  also  on  your  like- 
ness to  Ursule  Mirouet,  my  late  wife,  of  whom  you  constantly 
remind  me  by  your  grace  and  nature,  your  artlessness  and 
charm. 

“Your  being  the  child  of  my  father-in-law’s  natural  son 
might  lead  to  any  will  in  your  favor  being  disputed ” 

“ The  old  rascal ! ” exclaimed  the  postmaster. 

“My  adopting  you  would  have  given  rise  to  a lawsuit. 
Again,  I have  always  been  averse  to  the  notion  of  marrying 
you  myself  to  leave  you  my  fortune,  for  I might  have  lived  to 
a great  age  and  spoilt  your  future  happiness,  which  is  delayed 
only  by  the  life  of  Madame  de  Portenduere.  Having  regard 
to  the  difficulties,  and  wishing  to  leave  you  a fortune  adequate 
to  a handsome  position ” 

“ The  old  wretch,  he  thought  of  everything ! ” 

“ Without  doing  any  injury  to  my  heirs ” 

“ Miserable  Jesuit  ! As  if  we  had  not  a right  to  his  whole 
fortune ! ” 

“ I have  put  aside  for  you  the  sum-total  of  my  savings  for 
the  last  eighteen  years,  which  I have  regularly  invested  by  my 
lawyer’s  assistance,  in  the  hope  of  leaving  you  as  happy  as 
money  can  make  you.  Without  wealth  your  education  and 
superior  ideas  would  be  a misfortune ; besides,  you  ought  to 
bring  a good  dowry  to  the  excellent  young  man  who  loves 
you.  So  look  in  the  middle  of  the  third  volume  of  the 


THE  MINORET  PROPERTY, 


173 


‘ Pandects,’  in  folio,  bound  in  red  morocco,  the  last  volume 
on  the  lower  shelf  above  the  library  cupboard,  in  the  third 
division  on  the  drawing-room  side,  and  you  will  find  three  cer- 
tificates to  bearer  of  three  per  cent,  consols,  each  for  12,000 
francs.” 

“ What  a depth  of  villainy  ! ” cried  the  postmaster.  “ Ah, 
God  will  not  permit  me  to  be  thus  thwarted  ! ” 

“ Take  them  at  once,  with  the  small  savings  left  at  the 
moment  of  my  death,  which  are  in  the  next  volume.  Re- 
member, my  darling  child,  that  you  are  bound  to  obey,  blindly 
the  wish  that  has  been  the  joy  of  my  whole  life,  and  which 
will  compel  me  to  appeal  for  help  to  God  if  you  should  dis- 
obey me.  But  to  guard  against  any  scruple  of  your  dear 
conscience,  which  is,  I know,  ingenious  in  tormenting  you, 
you  will  find  with  this  a will  in  due  form,  bequeathing  these 
certificates  to  Monsieur  Savinien  de  Portenduere  ; so,  whether 
you  own  them,  or  they  are  the  gift  of  your  lover,  they  will  be 
legitimately  yours.  Your  godfather 

“ Denis  Minoret.” 

Subjoined  to  this  letter,  on  a sheet  of  stamped  paper,  was 
the  following  document  : 

“ This  is  my  Will. 

“ I,  Denis  Minoret,  Doctor  of  Medicine,  resident  at 
Nemours,  sound  in  mind  and  body,  as  the  date  of  this  will 
proves,  dedicate  my  soul  to  God,  beseeching  Him  to  forgive 
my  long  errors  in  favor  of  my  sincere  repentance.  Then, 
having  discerned  in  the  Vicomte  Savinien  de  Portenduere  a 
sincere  affection  for  me,  I bequeath  to  him  thirty-six  thou- 
sand francs  in  perpetual  consols  at  three  per  cent.,  to  be  paid 
out  of  my  estate  as  a first  charge. 

“ Made  and  written  all  by  my  own  hand  at  Nemours,  Jan- 
uary 11,  1831. 


“Denis  Minoret.” 


174 


UR  SUL  E MIROUET. 


Without  a moment’s  hesitation  the  postmaster,  who,  to 
make  sure  of  being  alone,  had  locked  himself  into  his  wife’s 
room,  looked  about  for  the  tinder-box ; he  had  two  warnings 
from  heaven  by  the  extinction  of  two  matches  which  would 
not  light.  The  third  blazed  up.  He  burnt  the  letter  and 
the  will  on  the  hearth,  and  took  the  needless  precaution  of 
burying  the  ashes  of  the  paper  and  wax  in  the  cinders.  Then, 
licking  his  lips  at  the  idea  of  having  thirty-six  thousand  francs 
unknown  to  his  wife,  he  flew  back  to  his  uncle’s  house,  spurred 
by  one  idea — the  single  fixed  idea  that  his  dull  brain  could 
master.  On  seeing  his  uncle’s  dwelling  invaded  by  the  three 
families,  at  last  in  possession  of  the  stronghold,  he  quaked 
lest  he  should  be  unable  to  carry  out  a project  which  he  gave 
himself  no  time  to  think  over,  considering  only  the  obstacles 
in  the  way. 

“ What  are  you  doing  here?”  he  said  to  Massin  and  Cre- 
miere. “ Do  you  suppose  that  we  are  going  to  leave  the 
house  and  papers  to  be  pillaged  ? There  are  three  of  us ; we 
cannot  encamp  on  the  spot.  You,  Cremiere,  go  at  once  to 
Dionis  and  tell  him  to  come  and  certify  the  death.  Though 
I am  an  official,  I am  not  competent  to  draw  up  the  death 
certificate  of  my  own  uncle.  You,  Massin,  had  better  ask 
old  Bongrand  to  seal  up  everything.  You,”  he  added  to  his 
wife,  Madame  Massin,  and  Madame  Cremiere,  “ you  should 
sit  with  Ursule,  ladies,  and  so  nothing  can  be  taken.  Above 
all,  lock  the  gate,  so  that  no  one  can  get  out.” 

The  women,  who  felt  the  weight  of  this  advice,  went  at 
once  to  Ursule’s  room,  where  they  found  the  noble  girl, 
already  the  object  of  such  cruel  suspicions,  on  her  knees  in 
prayer,  her  face  bathed  in  tears. 

Minoret,  guessing  that  they  would  not  remain  long  with 
Ursule,  and  suspicious  of  his  co-heirs’  want  of  trust  in  him, 
hastened  to  the  library,  saw  the  volume,  which  he  opened, 
took  out  the  three  certificates,  and  found  in  the  other  thirty 
bank-notes.  Notwithstanding  his  base  nature,  the  big  man 


THE  MIN O RET  PROPERTY. 


175 


fancied  a whole  chime  was  ringing  in  each  ear,  the  blood 
hissed  in  his  brain,  as  he  achieved  the  theft.  In  spite  of  the 
cold  weather,  his  shirt  was  wet  with  perspiration  down  his 
back ; and  his  legs  shook  to  such  a degree  that  he  dropped 
into  an  armchair  in  the  drawing-room  as  if  he  had  been 
struck  on  the  head  with  a sledge-hammer. 

“ Dear  me,  how  glib  the  idea  of  a fortune  has  made  old 
Minoret!”  Massin  had  said,  as  they  hurried  through  the 
town.  “ Did  you  notice  it?”  he  observed  to  Cremiere. 

‘ Come  here,  and  go  there  ! ’ How  well  he  knows  the  game, 
and  how  to  play  it ! ” 

“ Yes,  for  a fat-head  he  had  a style ” 

“I  say,”  said  Massin  in  alarm,  “his  wife  is  with  him. 
They  are  two  too  many.  Do  you  run  the  errands  ; I will  go 
back  again.” 

So  just  as  the  postmaster  had  seated  himself,  he  saw  the 
registrar’s  hot  face  at  the  gate,  for  he  had  run  back  with  the 
nimbleness  of  a ferret. 

“Well,  what  is  it  ? ” asked  the  postmaster,  as  he  let  in  his 
co-heir. 

“Nothing;  I came  back  to  witness  the  sealing,”  replied 
Massin,  glaring  at  him  like  a wildcat. 

“ I wish  it  were  done,  and  that  we  could  all  go  quietly 
home,”  said  Minoret. 

“And  we  will  put  some  one  in  charge,”  said  the  registrar. 
“ La  Bougival  is  capable  of  anything  in  the  interest  of  that 
little  minx.  We  will  put  in  Goupil.” 

“ Goupil  ! ” cried  Minoret;  “he  would  find  the  hoard, 
and  we  should  see  nothing  but  smoke.” 

“Let  us  see,”  replied  Massin;  “this  evening  they  will 
watch  by  the  dead.  We  shall  have  everything  sealed  up  in  an 
hour,  so  our  wives  will  be  on  guard  themselves.  The  funeral 
must  be  to-morrow  at  noon.  The  inventory  cannot  be  made 
till  after  a week.” 

“But,”  said  the  colossus  smiling,  “ we  can  turn  out  that 


176 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


minx,  and  we  will  engage  the  mayor’s  drummer  to  stop  in  the 
house  and  guard  the  property.” 

“ Very  good,”  said  the  registrar,  “ see  to  that  yourself ; you 
are  the  head  of  the  Minorets.” 

“ Now,  ladies,  ladies,  be  so  good  as  to  wait  in  the  drawing- 
room. You  cannot  be  off  to  dinner  yet ; we  must  witness 
the  affixing  of  the  seals  for  our  common  interest.” 

He  then  took  Zelie  aside  to  impart  to  her  Massin’s  idea 
about  Ursule.  The  women,  whose  hearts  were  full  of  vengeance, 
and  who  longed  to  turn  the  tables  on  “the  little  hussy,” 
hailed  the  idea  of  turning  her  out  of  the  house  with  glee. 

When  Bongrand  arrived  he  was  indignant  at  the  request 
made  to  him,  as  a friend  of  the  deceased,  by  Zelie  and 
Madame  Massin,  to  desire  Ursule  to  leave  the  house. 

“ Go  yourselves  and  turn  her  out  of  the  home  of  her  father, 
her  godfather,  her  uncle,  her  benefactor,  her  guardian  ! Go 
— you  who  owe  your  fortunes  to  her  nobility  of  character — 
take  her  by  the  shoulders — thrust  her  into  the  street  in  the 
face  of  the  whole  town  ! You  think  her  capable  of  robbing 
you?  Well,  then,  engage  a guardian  of  the  property;  you 
have  a perfect  right  to  do  so.  But  understand  clearly  that  I 
will  put  seals  on  nothing  in  her  room  ; it  is  her  own,  all  that 
is  in  it  is  her  property ; I shall  inform  her  what  her  rights  are, 
and  advise  her  to  place  everything  there  that  belongs  to  her. 
— Oh!  in  your  presence!  ” he  added,  hearing  a murmur  of 
disapproval. 

“What?  ” cried  the  tax-receiver  to  the  postmaster  and  the 
women,  who  were  struck  speechless  at  Bongrand’s  angry 
address. 

“A  pretty  magistrate  ! ” said  Minoret. 

Ursule,  on  a low  chair,  half-fainting,  her  head  thrown  back, 
her  hair  undone,  was  sobbing  from  time  to  time.  Her  eyes 
were  heavy,  their  lids  swollen  ; in  short,  she  was  in  a state  of 
moral  and  physical  prostration,  which  might  have  touched  the 
heart  of  the  fiercest  creatures  excepting  heirs. 


THE  MINORET  PROPERTY, \ 


177 


“Ah,  Monsieur  Bongrand,  after  my  happy  fete,  here  are 
death  and  despair,”  she  said,  with  the  unconscious  poetry  of 
a sweet  nature.  “You  know  what  he  was.  In  twenty  years 
he  never  spoke  an  impatient  word  to  me  ! I thought  he 
would  live  to  a hundred!  He  was  a mother  to  me,”  she 
cried,  “and  a kind  mother!  ” 

The  utterance  of  her  broken  ideas  brought  on  a torrent 
of  tears,  broken  by  sobs,  and  she  fell  back  half-senseless. 

“ My  child,”  said  the  justice,  hearing  the  inheritors  on  the 
stairs,  “ you  have  the  rest  of  your  life  to  weep  in,  and  only  a 
moment  for  business.  Bring  into  your  own  room  everything 
in  the  house  that  belongs  to  you.  The  heirs  insist  on  my 
affixing  seals ” 

“Oh,  his  heirs  may  take  everything  ! ” cried  Ursule,  start- 
ing up  in  a spasm  of  fierce  indignation.  “ I have  here  all 
that  is  precious  to  me!  ” and  she  struck  her  bosom. 

“What?  what?  ” asked  the  postmaster,  who,  with  Massin, 
now  showed  his  horrible  face. 

“ The  memory  of  his  virtues,  of  his  life,  of  all  his  words, 
the  image  of  his  heavenly  mind,”  she  replied,  her  eyes  and 
cheeks  flaming  as  she  raised  her  hand  with  a proud  gesture. 

“Ay,  and  you  have  a key  there  too,”  cried  Massin,  going 
on  all  fours  like  a cat  to  seize  a key  which  slipped  out  of  the 
folds  of  her  bodice  as  she  lifted  her  arm. 

“It  is  the  key  of  his  study,”  she  said,  coloring.  “ He  was 
sending  me  there  just  when  he  died.” 

The  two  men  exchanged  a hideous  smile,  and  turned  to  the 
justice  with  a look  that  expressed  a blighting  suspicion. 
Ursule  saw  and  interpreted  the  look,  malignant  on  Minoret’s 
part,  involuntary  on  Massin’s,  and  drew  herself  up,  as  pale  as 
if  all  her  blood  had  ebbed  ; her  eyes  glistened  with  the  light- 
nings that  can  only  flash  at  the  cost  of  vitality,  and  in  a 
choking  voice  she  said — 

“ Ah,  Monsieur  Bongrand,  all  that  is  in  this  room  is  mine 
only  by  my  godfather’s  kindness ; they  may  take  it  all ; I have 
12 


178 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


nothing  about  me  but  my  clothes ; I will  go  out  of  it  and 
never  come  in  again.” 

She  went  into  her  guardian’s  room,  and  no  entreaties  could 
bring  her  forth — for  the  heirs  were  a little  ashamed  of  their 
conduct.  She  desired  La  Bougival  to  engage  two  rooms  at 
the  Old  Posting  Inn  till  she  should  find  some  lodging  in  the 
town,  where  they  might  stay  together.  She  went  into  her 
room  only  to  fetch  her  prayer-book,  and  remained  all  night 
with  the  cure  and  another  priest  and  Savinien,  weeping  and 
praying.  Savinien  came  in  after  his  mother  had  gone  to  bed, 
and  knelt  down  without  speaking  by  Ursule,  who  gave  him 
the  saddest  smile,  while  thanking  him  for  coming  so  faithfully 
to  share  in  her  sorrows. 

“ My  child,”  said  Monsieur  Bongrand,  bringing  in  a large 
bundle,  “ one  of  your  uncle’s  relations  has  taken  out  of  your 
wardrobe  all  that  you  need,  for  the  seals  will  not  be  removed 
for  some  days,  and  you  will  then  have  everything  that  belongs 
to  you.  In  your  own  interest  I have  placed  seals  on  your 
things  too.” 

“Thank  you,”  she  said,  pressing  his  hand.  “ Come  and 
look  at  him  once  more.  You  would  think  he  was  sleeping.” 

The  old  man’s  face  had  at  this  moment  the  transient  bloom 
of  beauty  which  is  seen  on  the  face  of  those  who  have  died 
without  pain  ; it  seemed  radiant. 

“ Did  he  not  give  you  anything  privately  before  he  died  ? ” 
asked  the  justice  of  Ursule  in  a whisper. 

“ Nothing,”  she  replied.  “ He  only  said  something  about 
a letter ” 

“Good!  that  will  be  found,”  said  Bongrand.  “Then  it 
is  lucky  for  you  that  they  insisted  on  the  seals.” 

At  daybreak  Ursule  bade  adieu  to  the  house  where  her  happy 
childhood  had  been  spent,  and  above  all  to  the  room  where 
her  love  had  had  its  birth,  and  which  was  so  dear  to  her  that 
in  the  midst  of  her  deep  grief  she  had  a tear  of  regret  for 
this  peaceful  and  happy  nook.  After  gazing  for  the  last  time 


THE  MIN O RET  PROPERTY. 


179 


on  her  windows  and  on  Savinien  in  turn,  she  went  off  to  the 
inn,  accompanied  by  La  Bougival,  who  carried  her  bundle ; 
by  the  justice,  who  gave  her  his  arm ; and  by  Savinien,  her 
kind  protector. 

And  so,  in  spite  of  every  precaution,  the  suspicious  lawyer 
was  in  the  right ; Ursule  would  be  bereft  of  fortune,  and  at 
war  with  the  heirs-at-law. 

Next  day  the  whole  town  followed  Doctor  Minoret’s  funeral. 
When  they  heard  of  the  conduct  of  the  next-of-kin  to  Ursule, 
most  people  thought  it  natural  and  necessary ; there  was  an 
inheritance  at  stake ; the  old  man  was  miserly  ; Ursule  might 
fancy  she  had  rights ; the  heirs  were  only  protecting  their 
property ; and,  after  all,  she  had  humiliated  them  enough  in 
their  uncle’s  time — he  had  made  them  as  welcome  as  a dog 
among  ninepins.  Desire  Minoret,  who  was  doing  no  great 
things  in  his  office,  said  the  neighbors  who  were  envious  of 
the  postmaster,  came  for  the  funeral.  Ursule,  unable  to 
attend,  was  in  bed,  ill  of  a nervous  fever,  brought  on  as  much 
by  the  insults  offered  her  as  by  her  deep  grief. 

“Just  look  at  that  hypocrite  in  tears,”  said  some  of  the 
faction,  pointing  to  Savinien,  who  was  in  great  sorrow  for 
the  doctor’s  death. 

“ The  question  is  whether  he  has  any  good  cause  for  tears,” 
remarked  Goupil.  “Do  not  laugh  too  soon  ; the  seals  have 
not  yet  been  removed.” 

“ Pooh  ! ” said  Minoret,  who  knew  more  than  he  did, 
“ you  have  always  frightened  us  for  nothing.” 

Just  as  the  procession  was  starting  for  the  church,  Goupil 
had  a bitter  mortification  ; he  was  about  to  take  Desire’s  arm, 
but  the  young  man  turned  away,  thus  denying  his  comrade  in 
the  eyes  of  all  Nemours. 

“It  is  of  no  use  to  be  angry,”  said  the  clerk  to  himself; 
“I  should  lose  all  chance  of  revenge,”  and  his  dry  heart 
swelled  in  his  bosom  like  a sponge. 

Before  breaking  the  seals  and  making  the  inventory,  they 


180 


URSULE  M/R OCTET. 


had  to  wait  for  the  public  prosecutor’s  commission,  as  public 
guardian  of  all  orphans,  to  be  issued  to  Bongrand  as  his 
representative.  Then  the  Minoret  property,  of  which  every 
one  had  talked  for  ten  days,  was  released,  and  the  inventory 
was  made  and  witnessed  with  every  formality  of  the  law. 
Dionis  made  a job  of  it ; Goupil  was  glad  to  have  a finger  in 
any  mischief ; and  as  the  business  was  a paying  one,  they 
took  their  time  over  it.  They  generally  breakfasted  on  the 
spot.  The  notary,  the  clerks,  heirs,  and  witnesses  drank  the 
finest  wines  in  the  cellar. 

In  a country  town,  where  every  one  has  his  own  house,  it  is 
rather  difficult  to  find  lodgings  ; and  when  any  business  is  for 
sale,  the  house  commonly  goes  with  it.  The  justice,  who  was 
charged  by  the  court  with  the  guardianship  of  the  orphan 
girl,  saw  no  way  of  housing  her  out  of  the  inn  but  by  buying 
for  her,  in  the  High  Street,  at  the  corner  of  the  bridge  over 
the  Loing,  a small  house,  with  a door  opening  into  a passage; 
on  the  ground  floor  was  a sitting-room  with  two  windows  on 
the  street,  and  a kitchen  behind  it,  with  a glass  door  looking 
into  a yard  of  about  a hundred  square  feet.  A narrow  stair, 
with  a borrowed  light  from  the  river-side,  led  to  the  first  floor, 
containing  three  rooms,  and  to  two  attics  above. 

Monsieur  Bongrand  borrowed  two  thousand  francs  of  La 
Bougival’s  savings  to  pay  the  first  installment  of  the  price  of 
this  house,  which  was  six  thousand  francs,  and  he  obtained  a 
delay  for  the  remainder.  To  make  room  for  the  books  which 
Ursule  wished  to  buy  back,  Bongrand  had  a partition  pulled 
down  between  two  of  the  first-floor  rooms,  having  ascertained 
that  the  depth  of  the  house  was  sufficient  to  hold  the  book- 
shelves. He  and  Savinien  hurried  on  the  workmen,  who 
cleaned,  painted,  and  restored  this  little  dwelling  with  such 
effect,  that,  by  the  end  of  March,  Ursule  could  move  from 
the  inn  and  find  in  the  plain  little  house  a bedroom  just  like 
that  from  which  the  heirs  had  ejected  her,  for  it  was  full  of 


THE  MIN O RET  PROPERTY. 


181 


the  furniture  brought  away  by  the  justice  at  the  removal  of  the 
seals.  La  Bougival,  sleeping  overhead,  could  be  brought 
down  at  the  call  of  a bell  which  hung  by  her  young  mistress’ 
bed. 

The  room  intended  for  the  library,  the  ground-floor  sitting- 
room,  and  the  kitchen,  as  yet  unfurnished,  were  colored, 
repapered,  and  painted,  awaiting  the  purchases  the  young  girl 
might  make  at  the  sale  of  her  godfather’s  household  goods. 

Though  they  well  knew  Ursule’s  strength  of  character,  the 
justice  and  the  cure  both  dreaded  for  her  the  sudden  transi- 
tion to  a life  so  devoid  of  the  elegance  and  luxury  to  which 
the  doctor  had  always  accustomed  her.  As  to  Savinien,  he 
fairly  wept  over  it ; and  he  had  secretly  given  the  workmen 
and  the  upholsterer  more  than  one  gratuity  in  order  that 
Ursule  should  find  no  difference,  in  her  own  room  at  least, 
between  the  old  and  the  new.  But  the  young  girl,  who  found 
all  her  happiness  in  Savinien’s  eyes,  showed  the  sweetest 
resignation.  In  these  circumstances  she  charmed  her  two  old 
friends,  and  proved  to  them,  for  the  hundredth  time,  that 
only  grief  of  heart  could  give  her  real  suffering.  Her  sorrow 
at  her  godfather’s  death  was  too  deep  for  her  to  feel  the  bitter- 
ness of  her  changed  fortunes,  which,  nevertheless,  raised  a 
fresh  obstacle  in  the  way  of  her  marriage.  Savinien’s  dejec- 
tion at  seeing  her  brought  so  low  was  such  that  she  felt  obliged 
to  say  in  his  ear,  as  they  came  out  of  church  the  morning  of 
her  moving  into  her  new  abode  : 

' “ Love  cannot  live  without  patience;  we  must  wait.” 

As  soon  as  the  preamble  to  the  inventory  was  drawn  up, 
Massin,  advised  by  Goupil,  who  turned  to  him  in  his  covert 
hatred  of  Minoret,  hoping  for  more  from  the  usurer’s  self- 
interest  than  from  Zelie’s  thriftiness,  foreclosed  on  Madame 
and  Monsieur  de  Portenduere,  whose  term  for  payment  had 
lapsed.  The  old  lady  was  stunned  by  a summons  to  pay  up 
129,517  francs  55  centimes  to  the  heirs-at-law  within  twenty- 
four  hours,  and  interest  from  the  day  of  the  demand,  under 


182 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


penalty  of  the  seizure  of  her  landed  estate.  To  borrow  money 
to  pay  with  was  impossible.  Savinien  went  to  consult  a lawyer 
at  Fontainebleau. 

“You  have  had  a bad  set  to  deal  with  who  will  make  no  com- 
promise ; their  point  is  to  drive  you  to  extremities  and  take 
possession  of  the  farm  at  Bordieres,”  said  the  lawyer.  “The 
best  thing  will  be  to  effect  a voluntary  sale  so  as  to  avoid  costs.” 

This  melancholy  news  was  a blow  to  the  old  Bretonne,  to 
whom  her  son  mildly  remarked  that  if  she  had  but  consented 
to  his  marriage  during  Minoret’s  lifetime,  the  doctor  would 
have  placed  all  his  possessions  in  the  hands  of  Ursule’s  hus- 
band. At  this  moment  they  would  have  been  enjoying  wealth 
instead  of  suffering  misery.  Though  spoken  in  no  tone  of 
reproach,  this  argument  crushed  the  old  lady  quite  as  much  as 
the  notion  of  an  immediate  and  violent  eviction. 

Ursule,  hardly  recovered  from  her  fever  and  the  blow  dealt 
her  by  the  doctor’s  next-of-kin,  was  bewildered  with  dismay 
when  she  heard  of  this  fresh  disaster.  To  love,  and  be  unable 
to  help  the  person  beloved,  is  one  of  the  most  terrible  pangs 
that  the  soul  of  a high-minded  and  delicately  constituted 
woman  can  suffer. 

“I  meant  to  buy  my  uncle’s  house,”  she  said.  “I  will 
buy  your  mother’s  instead.” 

“Is  it  possible?”  said  Savinien.  “You  are  under  age, 
arid  cannot  sell  your  securities  without  elaborate  formalities, 
to  which  the  public  prosecutor  would  not  give  his  consent. 
And,  indeed,  we  shall  attempt  no  resistance.  All  the  town 
will  look  on  with  satisfaction  at  the  discomfiture  of  a noble 
house.  These  townsfolk  are  like  hounds  at  the  death.  Hap- 
pily, I still  have  ten  thousand  francs,  on  which  my  mother  can 
live  till  this  deplorable  business  is  wound  up.  And,  after  all, 
the  inventory  of  your  godfather’s  property  is  not  yet  com- 
plete. Monsieur  Bongrand  still  hopes  to  find  something  for 
you.  He  is  as  much  surprised  as  I am  to  find  you  left  penni- 
less. The  doctor  so  often  spoke  to  him  and  to  me  of  the 


THE  M1N0RET  PROPERTY. 


183 


handsome  future  he  had  prepared  for  you,  that  we  cannot  at 
ail  understand  this  state  of  things.” 

“ Oh,”  said  she,  “ if  I can  but  buy  the  books  and  my  god- 
father's furniture,  that  they  may  not  be  dispersed  or  pass  into 
strange  hands,  I am  content  with  my  lot.” 

“But  who  knows  what  price  those  rascally  people  may  not 
set  on  the  things  you  wish  to  have  ! ” 

From  Montargis  to  Fontainebleau  the  Minoret  heirs,  and 
the  million  they  hoped  to  find,  were  the  talk  of  the  country; 
but  the  most  careful  search  made  throughout  the  house  since 
the  removal  of  the  seals  had  led  to  no  discovery.  The  hun- 
dred and  twenty-nine  thousand  francs  of  the  Portenduere 
mortgage,  the  fifteen  thousand  francs  a year  in  three  per  cents., 
then  quoted  at  sixty-five,  and  yielding  a capital  of  three  hun- 
dred and  eighty  thousand,  the  house,  valued  at  forty  thousand 
francs,  and  the  handsome  furniture,  amounted  to  a total  of 
about  six  hundred  thousand  francs,  which  the  outer  world 
thought  a very  consoling  figure. 

Minoret  had  at  this  time  some  moments  of  acute  uneasiness. 
La  Bougival  and  Savinien,  who,  like  the  justice,  persisted  in 
believing  in  the  existence  of  a will,  came  in  after  every  day’s 
cataloguing  to  ask  Bongrand  the  result  of  the  investigations. 
The  doctor’s  old  friend  would  exclaim,  as  the  clerks  and  the 
heirs-at-law  quitted  the  premises : “I  cannot  understand  it  ? ” 
As,  in  the  eyes  of  many  superficial  observers,  two  hundred 
thousand  francs  apiece  to  each  inheritor  seemed  a very  fair  for- 
tune for  the  provinces,  it  never  occurred  to  any  one  to  inquire 
how  the  doctor  could  have  kept  house  as  he  had  done  on  an 
income  of  no  more  than  fifteen  thousand  francs,  since  he  had 
never  drawn  the  interest  on  the  Portenduere  mortgage.  Bon- 
grand, Savinien,  and  the  cure  alone  asked  this  question  in 
Ursule’s  interest,  and,  on  hearing  them  give  it  utterance,  the 
postmaster  more  than  once  turned  pale. 

“ And  yet  we  have  certainly  hunted  everywhere — they  to 
find  a hoard,  and  I to  find  a will,  in  favor  probably  of  Mon- 


184 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


sieur  de  Portenduere,”  said  the  justice  the  day  the  inventory 
was  finished  and  signed.  “They  have  sifted  the  ash-heap, 
raised  the  marble  tops,  felt  in  his  slippers,  pulled  the  bed- 
steads to  pieces,  emptied  the  mattresses,  run  pins  into  the 
counterpanes  and  coverlets,  turned  out  his  eiderdown  quilt, 
examined  every  scrap  of  paper,  every  drawer,  dug  over  the 
ground  in  the  cellar ; and  I was  ready  to  bid  them  pull  the 
house  down.” 

“What  do  you  think  about  it?”  asked  the  cure.  “The 
will  has  been  made  away  with  by  one  of  them.” 

“And  the  securities?” 

“ Try  to  find  them  ! Try  to  guess  what  such  creatures 
would  be  at — as  cunning,  as  wily,  and  as  greedy  as  these 
Massins  and  Cremieres.  Make  what  you  can  of  such  a fortune 
as  this  Minoret’s ; he  gets  two  hundred  thousand  francs  for 
his  share,  and  he  is  going  to  sell  his  license,  his  house,  and 
his  interest  in  the  Messageries  for  three  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  ! What  sums  of  money  ! To  say  nothing  of  the 
savings  on  his  thirty-odd  thousand  francs  derived  from  real 
estate.  Poor  doctor  ! ” 

“The  will  might  have  been  hidden  in  the  library  ! ” said 
Savinien. 

“And,  therefore,  I did  not  dissuade  the  child  from  buying 
the  books.  But  for  that,  would  it  not  have  been  folly  to  let 
her  spend  all  her  ready  money  in  books  she  will  never  look 
into  ? ” 

The  whole  town  had  believed  that  the  doctor’s  godchild 
was  in  possession  of  the  undiscoverable  securities ; but  when 
it  was  known  beyond  a doubt  that  her  fourteen  thousand 
francs  in  consols  and  her  little  personalty  constituted  her 
whole  fortune,  the  doctor’s  house  and  furniture  excited  the 
greatest  curiosity.  Some  thought  that  bank-notes  would  be 
found  in  the  stuffing  of  the  chairs ; others  that  the  old  man 
must  have  hidden  them  in  his  books.  The  sale  accordingly 
afforded  the  spectacle  of  the  strange  precautions  taken  by  the 


THE  MIN O RET  PROPERTY. 


185 


heirs.  Dionis,  as  auctioneer,  explained  with  regard  to  each 
article  put  up  for  sale  that  the  heirs-at-law  were  selling  the 
piece  of  furniture  only,  and  not  anything  that  might  be  found 
in  it ; then,  before  parting  with  it,  they  all  submitted  it  to  the 
closest  scrutiny,  pinched  it,  tapped  it,  shook  it  ; and  then 
gazed  after  it  with  the  fond  looks  of  a father  parting  with  his 
only  son  for  a voyage  to  the  Indies. 

“Oh,  mademoiselle,”  said  La  Bougival,  on  her  return  from 
the  first  morning’s  sale.  “ I will  not  go  again.  Monsieur 
Bongrand  is  right  ; you  could  not  bear  to  see  it.  Everything 
is  upside  down.  They  come  and  go  as  if  it  were  the  street ; 
the  handsomest  furniture  is  used  for  anything  that  is  wanted ; 
they  stand  upon  it ; there  is  such  a mess  that  a hen  could  not 
find  her  chicks  ! You  might  think  there  had  been  a fire. 
Everything  is  turned  out  into  the  courtyard,  the  wardrobes 
all  open  and  empty  ! Oh,  poor,  dear  man,  it  is  lucky  for  him 
he  is  dead  ! This  sale  would  have  been  the  death  of  him  ! ” 

Bongrand,  who  was  buying  for  Ursule  the  things  of  which 
the  old  man  had  been  fond,  and  which  were  suitable  for  her 
small  house,  did  not  appear  when  the  library  was  sold. 
Sharper  than  the  heirs-at-law,  whose  greed  would  have  made 
him  pay  too  dear  for  the  books,  he  gave  a commission  to  a 
second-hand  book-dealer  at  Melun,  who  came  to  Nemours  on 
purpose,  and  who  managed  to  secure  several  lots.  As  a 
consequence  of  the  suspicions  of  the  heirs,  the  books  were 
sold  one  by  one.  Three  thousand  volumes  were  turned  over, 
shaken  one  by  one,  held  by  the  boards  and  fluttered,  to  make 
any  paper  fly  out  that  might  be  hidden  between  the  leaves ; 
finally,  the  bindings  and  backs  were  closely  examined.  The 
lots  secured  for  Ursule  mounted  up  to  about  six  thousand  five 
hundred  francs,  half  of  her  claims  on  the  estate. 

The  bookcase  was  not  delivered  over  until  it  had  been 
carefully  examined  by  a cabinetmaker,  noted  for  his  experi- 
ence of  secret  drawers  and  panels,  who  was  sent  for  expressly, 
from  Paris.  When  the  justice  gave  orders  that  the  bookcase 


186 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


and  books  should  be  conveyed  to  Mademoiselle  Mirouet’s 
house,  the  heirs-at-law  felt  some  vague  alarms,  which  were 
subsequently  dissipated  by  seeing  that  she  was  no  richer  than 
before. 

Minoret  bought  his  uncle’s  house,  which  the  co-heirs  ran 
up  to  about  fifty  thousand  francs,  imagining  that  the  post- 
master hoped  to  find  a treasure  in  the  walls.  And  the  deed 
of  sale  contained  stipulaf/ons  on  this  point.  A fortnight  after 
the  conclusion  of  the  whole  business,  Minoret,  having  sold 
his  post-horses  and  his  business  to  the  son  of  a wealthy  farmer, 
moved  into  his  uncle’s  house,  on  which  he  spent  considerable 
sums  in  improvements  and  repairs.  So  Minoret  condemned 
himself  to  live  within  a few  yards  of  Ursule. 

“ I only  hope,”  said  he  to  Dionis  the  day  when  Savinien 
and  his  mother  had  notice  of  the  foreclosure,  “that  now  we 
shall  be  rid  of  this  precious  nobility.  We  will  turn  them  out, 
one  by  one.” 

“The  old  lady,  with  her  fourteen  quarterings,  will  not 
stay  to  witness  the  disaster,”  said  Goupil.  “She  will  go 
to  die  in  Brittany,  where,  no  doubt,  she  will  find  a wife 
for  her  son.” 

“ I don’t  think  so,”  replied  the  notary,  who,  that  morning, 
had  drawn  up  the  agreement  of  purchase  for  Bongrand. 
“ Ursule  has  just  bought  the  widow  Richard’s  little  house.” 

“That  cursed  little  fool  does  not  know  what  to  do  next  to 
annoy  us  ! ” cried  Minoret,  very  rashly. 

“ Why,  what  can  it  matter  to  you  if  she  lives  at  Nemours?” 
asked  Guopil,  astonished  at  the  vehement  disgust  shown  by 
the  great  simpleton. 

“ Do  you  not  know,”  said  Minoret,  turning  as  red  as  a 
poppy,  “ that  my  son  is  fool  enough  to  be  in  love  with  her? 
I would  give  a hundred  crowns  to  see  Ursule  well  out  of 
Nemours.” 

From  this  it  is  easy  to  understand  how  much  Ursule,  poor 
and  resigned  as  she  was,  would  be  in  Minoret’s  way,  with  all 


THE  MINORET  PROPERTY. 


187 


his  money.  The  worry  of  securities  to  be  realized,  of  selling 
his  business,  the  expeditions  consequent  on  such  unwonted 
affairs,  his  disputes  with  his  wife  over  every  little  detail,  and 
the  purchase  of  the  doctor’s  house,  where  Zelie  wished  to  live 
quite  plainly  for  her  son’s  sake — all  this  turmoil,  so  unlike 
the  quiet  course  of  his  usual  life,  prevented  the  great  Minoret 
from  thinking  of  his  victim.  But  a few  days  after  he  had 
settled  in  the  Rue  des  Bourgeois,  about  the  middle  of  May, 
on  returning  from  a walk,  he  heard  the  sounds  of  a piano, 
and  saw  La  Bougival  sitting  in  the  window,  like  a dragon 
guarding  a treasure ; and  at  the  same  moment  he  heard  an 
importunate  voice  within  himself. 

An  explanation  of  the  reason  why,  in  a man  of  his  temper, 
the  sight  of  Ursule,  who  did  not  even  suspect  the  theft  he 
had  committed  to  her  injury,  became  at  once  unendurable, 
why  the  sight  of  her  dignity  in  misfortune  filled  him  with  the 
desire  to  get  her  out  of  the  town,  and  why  this  desire  assumed 
the  character  of  hatred  and  passion,  would  lead  perhaps  to  a 
complete  moral  treatise.  Perhaps  he  felt  that  he  was  not  the 
legitimate  possessor  of  the  thirty-six  thousand  francs  while 
she  to  whom  they  belonged  was  so  close  to  him.  Perhaps  he 
thought  that  by  some  chance  his  theft  would  be  discovered,  so 
long  as  those  he  had  robbed  were  within  reach.  Perhaps, 
even,  in  a nature  so  primitive,  so  rough-hewn  as  his  was,  and 
hitherto  always  law-abiding,  Ursule’ s presence  awoke  some 
kind  of  remorse.  Perhaps  this  remorse  was  the  more  poig- 
nant because  he  had  so  much  more  wealth  than  had  been 
legitimately  acquired. 

He  no  doubt  ascribed  these  stirrings  of  his  conscience 
wholly  to  Ursule’s  presence,  fancying  that  if  she  were  out  of 
sight  these  uncomfortable  pangs  would  vanish  too.  Or  per- 
haps, again,  crime  has  its  own  counsel  of  perfection.  An  ill 
deed  begun  may  demand  its  climax,  a first  blow  may  require 
a second — a death-blow.  Robbery,  perhaps,  inevitably  leads 
to  murder.  Minoret  had  committed  the  theft  without  a mo- 


188 


UR SUL E MIROUET. 


ment’s  pause  for  reflection,  events  had  crowded  on  so  swiftly ; 
reflection  came  afterwards.  Now,  if  the  reader  has  fully  pic- 
tured the  appearance  and  build  of  this  man,  he  will  under- 
stand the  prodigious  results  on  him  of  an  idea.  Remorse  is 
more  than  an  idea ; it  is  the  outcome  of  a feeling  which  can 
no  more  be  smothered  than  love  can,  and  which  is  tyrannous 
too.  But  just  as  Minoret  had  not  hesitated  for  an  instant 
to  possess  himself  of  the  fortune  intended  for  Ursule,  so  he 
mechanically  felt  the  need  of  getting  her  away  from  Nemours 
when  the  sight  of  her  cheated  innocence  stung  him.  Being 
an  imbecile,  he  never  considered  consequences ; he  went  on 
from  danger  to  danger,  urged  by  his  instinctive  cupidity,  like 
a wild  animal  which  cannot  foresee  the  wiles  of  the  hunter, 
and  trusts  to  its  swiftness  and  strength. 

Before  long  the  richer  townspeople,  who  were  wont  to  meet 
at  the  notary’s  office,  observed  a change  in  the  manners  and 
demeanor  of  the  man  who  had  always  been  so  light-hearted. 

“ I cannot  think  what  has  come  over  Minoret, ” said  his 
wife,  to  whom  he  had  never  revealed  his  bold  stroke.  “ He 
is  ill  anyhow.” 

The  world  at  large  accounted  for  Minoret’s  being  sick  of 
himself — for  in  his  face  the  expression  of  thought  was  one 
of  boredom — by  the  fact  that  he  had  absolutely  nothing  to 
do,  and  by  the  transition  from  an  active  to  an  indolent  life. 
While  Minoret  was  scheming  to  crush  Ursule’ s life,  La  Bou- 
gival  never  let  a day  pass  without  making  to  her  foster-child 
some  allusion  to  the  fortune  she  ought  to  have  had,  or  com- 
paring her  humble  lot  with  that  which  the  late  “ Monsieur  ” 
had  intended  her  to  enjoy,  and  of  which  he  had  spoken  to 
her — La  Bougival. 

“And  besides,”  said  she,  “it  is  not  out  of  greediness; 
but  would  not  monsieur,  so  kind  as  he  was,  have  left  me  some 
little  money  ? ” 

“Am  I not  here?”  Ursule  would  reply,  and  forbid  any 
further  words  on  the  subject. 


THE  MIN  ORE  T PROPERTY. 


189 


She  could  not  bear  the  taint  of  any  self-interested  thought 
to  touch  the  loving,  melancholy  and  sweet  memories  which 
clung  round  the  image  of  the  old  doctor,  of  whom  a sketch 
in  black  and  white  chalk,  done  by  her  drawing-master,  hung 
in  her  little  sitting-room.  To  her  fresh  and  strong  imagina- 
tion the  sight  of  this  sketch  was  sufficient  to  bring  her  god- 
father before  her;  she  thought  of  him  constantly,  and  was 
surrounded  by  the  objects  he  had  loved — his  deep  armchair, 
the  furniture  of  his  study,  his  backgammon-board,  and  the 
piano  he  had  given  her.  The  two  old  friends  who  remained 
to  her,  the  Abbe  Chaperon  and  Monsieur  Bongrand,  the  only 
persons  whose  visits  she  would  receive,  were  like  two  living 
memories  of  the  past  in  the  midst  of  the  objects  to  which  her 
regrets  almost  gave  life — of  that  past  which  was  linked  to  the 
present  by  the  love  which  her  godfather  had  approved  and 
blessed. 

Ere  long  the  sadness  of  her  thoughts,  insensibly  softened 
by  time,  cast  its  hue  on  all  her  life,  bringing  everything  into 
indefinable  harmony ; exquisite  neatness,  perfect  order  in  the 
arrangement  of  the  furniture,  a few  flowers  brought  every 
morning  by  Savinien,  pretty  nothings,  a stamp  of  peace  set 
on  everything  by  the  young  girl’s  habits,  and  which  made 
her  home  attractive.  After  breakfast  and  after  church  she 
regularly  practiced  and  sang ; then  she  took  her  embroidery, 
sitting  in  the  window  towards  the  street.  At  four  o’clock 
Savinien,  on  his  return  from  the  walk  he  took  in  all  weathers, 
would  find  the  window  half-open,  and  sit  on  the  outer  sill  to 
chat  with  her  for  half  an  hour.  In  the  evening  the  cur6  or 
the  justice  would  call,  but  she  would  never  allow  Savinien  to 
accompany  them.  Nor  would  she  accept  a proposal  from 
Madame  de  Portenduere,  whom  her  son  persuaded  to  invite 
Ursule  to  live  with  her. 

The  young  girl  and  La  Bougival  lived  with  the  strictest 
economy ; they  did  not  spend,  on  all  included,  more  than 
sixty  francs  a month.  The  old  nurse  was  indefatigable ; she 


190 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


washed  and  ironed,  she  cooked  only  twice  a week,  and  kept 
the  remains  of  the  cooked  food,  which  the  mistress  and  maid 
ate  cold ; for  Ursule  hoped  to  save  seven  hundred  francs  a 
year  to  pay  the  remainder  of  the  price  of  her  house.  This 
austere  conduct,  with  her  modesty  and  resignation  to  a penuri- 
ous life,  after  having  enjoyed  a luxurious  existence,  when  her 
lightest  whims  were  worshiped,  gained  her  the  regard  of  cer- 
tain persons.  She  was  respected,  and  never  talked  about. 
The  heirs,  once  satisfied,  did  her  full  justice.  Savinien  ad- 
mired such  strength  of  character  in  so  young  a girl.  Now 
and  again,  on  coming  out  of  church,  Madame  de  Porten- 
duere  would  say  a few  kind  words  to  Ursule ; she  invited  her 
to  dinner  twice,  and  came  herself  to  fetch  her.  If  it  were 
not  indeed  happiness,  at  any  rate  it  was  peace. 

But  a successful  transaction,  in  which  the  justice  displayed 
his  old  skill  as  a lawyer,  brought  to  a head  Minoret’s  persecu- 
tion of  Ursule,  which  had  hitherto  smoldered,  and  not  gone 
beyond  covert  ill-will.  As  soon  as  the  old  doctor’s  estate  was 
fairly  settled,  the  justice,  at  Ursule’s  entreaty,  took  up  the 
cause  of  the  Portendueres,  and  undertook  to  get  them  out  of 
their  difficulties ; but,  in  calling  on  the  old  lady,  whose  oppo- 
sition to  Ursule’s  happiness  made  him  furious,  he  did  not 
conceal  from  her  that  he  was  devoting  himself  to  her  interests 
solely  to  please  Mademoiselle  Mirouet.  He  selected  one  of 
his  former  clerks  to  plead  for  the  Portendueres  at  Fontaine- 
bleau, and  himself  conducted  the  appeal  for  a decree  against 
foreclosure.  He  intended  to  take  advantage  of  the  interval 
of  time  which  must  elapse  between  the  grantingof  this  decree 
and  Massin’s  renewed  appeal  to  re-let  the  farm  at  a rent  of 
six  thousand  francs,  and  to  extract  from  the  lessee  a good 
premium  and  the  payment  of  a year’s  rent  in  advance. 
Thenceforth  the  whist  parties  met  again  at  Madame  de  Por- 
tenduere’s,  consisting  of  himself  and  the  cure,  Savinien  and 
Ursule,  for  whom  the  justice  and  the  abbe  called  every  even- 
ing, and  they  saw  her  home  again. 


THE  MIN O RET  PROPERTY. 


191 


In  June,  Bongrand  got  his  decree  annulling  the  proceedings 
taken  by  Massin  against  the  Portendu£res.  He  at  once  signed 
a new  lease  \ got  thirty-two  thousand  francs  from  the  farmer, 
and  a rent  of  six  thousand  francs  a year  for  eight  years ; then, 
in  the  evening,  before  the  transactions  could  get  abroad,  he 
went  to  Zelie,  who,  as  he  knew,  was  puzzled  for  an  investment 
for  her  savings,  and  suggested  to  her  that  she  should  buy 
Bordieres  for  two  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  francs. 

44  I would  clinch  the  bargain  on  the  spot,”  said  Minoret, 
44  if  only  I were  sure  that  the  Portendueres  were  going  to  live 
anywhere  than  at  Nemours.” 

44  Why?”  asked  the  justice. 

44  We  want  to  be  quit  of  nobles  at  Nemours,”  frankly  an- 
swered Minoret. 

44 1 fancy  I have  heard  the  old  lady  say  that  if  she  could 
settle  matters,  she  could  live  nowhere  but  in  Brittany  on  what 
would  be  left.  She  talks  of  selling  her  house.” 

44  Well,  sell  it  to  me  then,”  said  Minoret. 

44  But  you  talk  as  if  the  money  were  yours  ! ” said  Zelie. 
44  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  two  houses?” 

44  If  I do  not  settle  the  matter  of  the  farm  with  you  this 
evening,”  said  the  justice,  44  our  lease  will  become  known ; 
we  shall  have  fresh  proceedings  against  us  in  three  days,  and 
I shall  fail  to  pull  the  thing  through.  My  heart  is  set  on  it ; 
I shall  go  on,  this  very  hour,  to  Melun,  where  some  farmers  I 
know  will  take  Bordieres  off  my  hands  with  their  eyes  shut. 
Then  you  will  have  lost  the  opportunity  of  an  investment  at 
three  per  cent,  in  the  district  of  Le  Rouvre.” 

44  And  why  then  did  you  come  to  us  ? ” said  Z61ie. 

44  Because  I know  you  to  be  rich,  while  my  older  clients 
will  want  a few  days  to  enable  them  to  hand  over  a hundred 
and  twenty-nine  thousand  francs.  I want  no  delays.” 

44  Get  her  away  from  Nemours,  and  they  are  yours  ! ” said 
Minoret. 

44  You  must  see  that  I cannot  pledge  the  Portendueres  in 


192 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


any  way,”  replied  Bongrand,  “but  I feel  sure  that  they  will 
not  remain  at  Nemours.” 

On  this  assurance  Minoret,  to  whom  Zelie  gave  a nudge, 
undertook  to  pay  off  the  Portendueres’  debt  to  the  doctor’s 
estate.  The  contract  for  the  sale  was  made  out  by  Dionis, 
and  the  justice,  very  content,  made  Minoret  agree  to  the 
terms  of  the  renewed  lease,  though  he  perceived  rather  late,  as 
well  as  Zelie,  that  the  rent  was  payable  a year  in  advance, 
leaving  the  last  year,  in  point  of  fact,  rent  free. 

By  the  end  of  June,  Bongrand  could  take  Madame  de 
Portenduere  a receipt  in  full  and  the  remnant  of  her  fortune, 
a hundred  and  twenty-nine  thousand  francs,  which  he  advised 
her  to  invest  in  state  securities  at  five  per  cent.,  as  well  as 
Savinien’s  ten  thousand ; this  yielded  an  income  of  about  six 
thousand  francs  a year.  Thus,  instead  of  having  lost,  the  old 
lady  had  gained  two  thousand  francs  a year  by  the  sale  of  her 
estate.  She  and  her  son  therefore  remained  at  Nemours. 

Minoret  thought  he  had  been  tricked,  as  if  the  justice  could 
possibly  have  known  that  it  was  Ursule’s  presence  that  was 
intolerable  to  him,  and  felt  a deep  resentment,  which  added 
to  his  hatred  of  his  victim.  Then  began  the  covert  drama, 
terrible  in  its  effects,  the  struggle  between  two  persons’ 
feelings : Minoret’s,  which  prompted  him  to  drive  Ursule  to 
leave  Nemours ; and  Ursule’s,  which  gave  her  the  fortitude  to 
endure  a persecution  of  which  the  cause  for  long  remained 
inexplicable,  a singular  state  of  things  to  which  previous 
events  had  all  led  up  and  conduced,  and  to  which  they  had 
been  the  prologue. 

Madame  Minoret,  to  whom  her  husband  presented  plate 
and  a dinner  service  worth  altogether  twenty  thousand  francs, 
gave  a handsome  dinner  every  Sunday,  the  day  on  which  her 
son  brought  friends  over  from  Fontainebleau.  For  these 
banquets  Zelie  would  send  for  some  rare  dainties  from  Paris, 
thus  inciting  Dionis  the  notary  to  imitate  her  display. 
Goupil,  whom  the  Minorets  did  their  utmost  to  banish  as  a 


THE  MI  NO  RET  PROPERTY. 


193 


man  of  ill-repute  and  a blot  on  their  magnificence,  was  not 
invited  to  the  house  till  the  end  of  July,  a month  after  the 
retirement  into  private  ease  of  the  old  postmaster  and 
mistress.  The  clerk,  quite  alive  to  this  deliberate  neglect, 
was  obliged  to  treat  even  Desire  with  formality,  and  drop  the 
familiar  iu ; and  Desire,  since  his  appointment  to  official 
life,  had  assumed  a grave  and  haughty  air  even  among  his 
family. 

“You  have  forgotten  Esther,  then,  since  you  are  in  love 
with  Mademoiselle  Mirouet?”  said  Goupil  to  the  young 
lawyer. 

“ In  the  first  place,  Esther  is  dead,  monsieur.  And,  in  the 
second,  I never  thought  of  Ursule,”  was  the  reply. 

“Hey  day — what  did  you  tell  me,  Daddy  Minoret?” 
cried  Goupil  audaciously. 

Minoret,  caught  in  the  very  act  by  so  formidable  a foe, 
would  have  been  put  out  of  countenance  but  for  the  scheme 
for  which  he  had  invited  Goupil  to  dinner,  remembering  the 
proposal  formerly  made  by  the  clerk  to  hinder  Ursule’ s mar- 
riage to  young  Portenduere.  His  only  answer  was  to  lead  the 
clerk  abruptly  away  and  out  into  the  garden. 

“You  are  nearly  eight-and-twenty,  my  good  fellow,”  said 
he,  “ and  I do  not  see  that  you  are  on  the  high-road  to  for- 
tune. I wish  you  well ; for,  after  all,  you  were  my  son’s 
companion.  Listen  to  me : If  you  can  persuade  that  little 
Mirouet  to  become  your  wife — she  has  forty  thousand  francs 
at  any  rate — as  sure  as  my  name  is  Minoret,  I will  give  you 
the  money  to  buy  a business  at  Orleans.” 

“ No,”  said  Goupil,  “ I should  never  become  known.  At 
Montargis ” 

“No,”  interrupted  Minoret,  “but  at  Sens ” 

“Very  good,  say  Sens,”  replied  the  hideous  clerk.  “It 
is  an  archbishop’s  see,  and  I have  no  objection  to  a religious 
centre.  A little  hypocrisy  helps  one  to  get  on.  Besides,  the 
girl  is  very  pious  ; she  will  be  a success  there.” 

13 


194 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


44  It  must  be  quite  understood  that  I only  give  the  hundred 
thousand  francs  in  consideration  of  my  young  relative’s  mar- 
riage. I wish  to  provide  for  her  out  of  regard  for  my  deceased 
uncle.” 

“And  why  not  out  of  regard  for  me?”  said  Goupil  mis- 
chievously, for  he  suspected  some  secret  motive  for  Minoret’s 
conduct.  44  Was  it  not  information  given  by  me  that  enabled 
you  to  get  twenty-four  thousand  francs  in  rent  from  a single 
holding  in  a ring  fence  round  the  Chateau  du  Rouvre  ? With 
your  meadows  and  mill  on  the  other  side  of  the  Loing  you 
can  add  sixteen  thousand  to  that.  Come,  old  Burly,  will  you 
play  your  game  with  me  above  board  ? ” 

44  Yes.” 

44  Well,  just  to  make  you  feel  my  claws,  I was  brewing  a 
plan  with  Massin  to  get  possession  of  Le  Rouvre — park,  gar- 
dens, preserves,  timber,  and  all.” 

44  You  had  better ! ” exclaimed  Zelie,  interrupting  them. 

44  Well,”  said  Goupil,  with  a viperine  glance  at  her,  44  if  I 
choose,  Massin  will  have  it  all  to-morrow  for  two  hundred 
thousand  francs.” 

44  Leave  us,  wife,”  said  the  colossus,  taking  Zelie  by  the 
arm,  and  turning  her  «about.  44  We  understand  each  other. 
We  have  had  so  much  business  on  our  hands,”  he  went  on, 
coming  back  to  Goupil,  44  that  we  have  not  been  able  to  think 
of  you ; but  I rely  on  your  friendship  to  let  us  get  Le 
Rouvre.” 

44  An  old  marquisate,”  said  Goupil  slyly,  44  which  in  your 
hands  will  soon  be  worth  fifty  thousand  francs  a year — more 
than  two  millions  at  the  present  price  of  money.” 

44  And  then  our  boy  can  marry  the  daughter  of  a Marshal 
of  France,  or  the  heiress  of  some  ancient  house,  which  will 
help  him  on  to  be  a judge  in  Paris,”  said  the  postmaster, 
opening  his  huge  snuff-box,  and  offering  it  to  Goupil. 

“Well,  then,  all  is  square  and  above  board?”  asked 
Goupil,  shaking  his  fingers. 


THE  MINOR ET  PROPERTY. 


195 


Minoret  wrung  his  hand  and  said — 

“My  word  of  honor.” 

Like  all  cunning  men,  the  clerk  fancied,  happily  for 
Minoret,  that  this  marriage  with  Ursule  was  a mere  excuse 
for  making  up  to  him,  now  he  had  been  playing  off  Massin 
against  them. 

“It  is  not  his  doing,”  said  he  to  himself.  “I  know  my 
Zelie’s  hand ; she  has  taught  him  his  part.  Bah ! Let 
Massin  slide  ! Within  three  years  I shall  be  returned  as 
depute  for  Sens,”  he  thought. 

Then,  catching  sight  of  Bongrand  on  his  way  to  his  game 
of  whist  over  the  way,  he  rushed  into  the  street. 

“You  take  a great  interest  in  Ursule  Mirouet,  my  dear 
Monsieur  Bongrand,”  said  he;  “you  cannot  be  indifferent 
to  her  future  prospects.  This  is  our  programme.  She  may 
marry  a notary  whose  business  is  to  be  in  a large  district 
town.  This  notary,  who  will  certainly  be  depute  in  three 
years,  will  settle  a hundred  thousand  francs  on  her.” 

“She  can  do  better,”  said  Bongrand  stiffly.  “Since 
Madame  de  Portenduere’s  misfortunes  her  health  is  failing. 
Yesterday  she  looked  dreadfully  ill ; she  is  dying  of  grief. 
Savinien  will  have  six  thousand  francs  a year ; Ursule  has 
forty  thousand  francs ; I will  invest  their  capital  on  Massin’s 
principle — but  honestly — and  in  ten  years  they  will  have  a 
little  fortune.” 

“ Savinien  would  be  a fool.  He  can  marry  Mademoiselle 
du  Rouvre  any  day  he  likes,  an  only  daughter,  to  whom  her 
uncle  and  aunt  will  also  leave  splendid  fortunes.” 

“‘When  love  has  gotten  hold  of  us,  farewell  prudence,’ 
says  La  Fontaine.  But  who  is  this  worthy  notary,  for,  after 
• all ?”  said  Bongrand,  out  of  curiosity. 

“I,”  said  Goupil,  in  a tone  that  made  the  justice  start. 

“You?  ” said  he,  not  attempting  to  conceal  his  disgust. 

“Very  good,  sir;  your  servant,”  retorted  Goupil,  with  a 
glare  of  venom,  hatred,  and  defiance. 


196 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


“Would  you  like  to  be  the  wife  of  a notary  who  will  settle 
a hundred  thousand  francs  on  you?  ” cried  Bongrand,  enter- 
ing the  little  sitting-room,  and  speaking  to  Ursule,  who  was 
sitting  by  Madame  de  Portenduere.  Ursule  and  Savinien 
started  as  if  by  one  impulse,  and  looked  at  each  other ; she 
with  a smile,  he  not  daring  to  show  his  uneasiness. 

“I  am  not  my  own  mistress,”  replied  Ursule,  holding  out 
her  hand  to  Savinien  in  such  a way  that  his  old  mother  could 
not  see  it. 

“I  refused  the  offer  without  consulting  you  even.” 

“But  why?”  said  Madame  de  Portenduere.  “It  seems 
to  me,  my  dear,  that  a notary's  profession  is  a very  respectable 
one.” 

“I  prefer  my  peaceful  poverty,”  she  replied,  “for  it  is 
opulence  in  comparison  with  what  I had  a right  to  expect  of 
life.  My  old  nurse  spares  me  many  anxieties,  and  I would 
not  exchange  my  present  lot,  which  suits  me,  for  an  unknown 
future.” 

Next  morning  the  post  brought  a poisoned  dart  to  two 
hearts  in  the  shape  of  two  anonymous  letters — one  to  Madame 
de  Portenduere,  and  one  to  Ursule.  This  is  the  letter  re- 
ceived by  the  old  lady : 

“You  love  your  son,  you  would  wish  to  see  him  married  as 
beseems  the  name  he  bears,  and  you  are  fostering  his  fancy 
for  an  ambitious  little  thing  without  any  fortune,  by  receiving 
at  your  house  one  Ursule,  the  daughter  of  a regimental  band- 
master ; while  you  might  marry  him  to  Mademoiselle  du 
Rouvre,  whose  two  uncles,  the  Marquis  de  Ronquerolles  and 
the  Chevalier  du  Rouvre,  each  having  thirty  thousand  francs  a 
year,  intend  to  settle  a large  sum  on  their  niece  on  her  mar- 
riage, so  as  not  to  leave  their  fortune  to  her  foolish  old  father, 
M.  du  Rouvre,  who  wastes  his  substance.  Madame  de  Serizy 
— Aunt  Clementine  du  Rouvre — who  has  just  lost  her  only 
son  in  Algiers,  will  no  doubt  also  adopt  her  niece.  Some 


THE  MIN 0 RET  PROPERTY. 


197 


one  who  wishes  you  well  believes  that  Savinien  would  be 
accepted.** 

This  is  the  letter  written  to  Ursule : 

“ Dear  Ursule  : — There  is  in  Nemours  a young  man  who 
idolizes  you ; he  cannot  see  you  at  work  at  your  window  with- 
out such  emotions  as  prove  to  him  that  his  love  is  for  life. 
This  young  man  is  gifted  with  a will  of  iron  and  a persever- 
ance which  nothing  can  daunt.  Accept  his  love  with  favor, 
for  his  intentions  are  of  the  purest,  and  he  humbly  asks  your 
hand  in  the  hope  of  making  you  happy.  His  fortune,  though 
suitable  even  now,  is  nothing  to  what  he  will  make  it  when 
you  are  his  wife.  You  will  some  day  be  received  at  court  as 
the  wife  of  a minister,  and  one  of  the  first  ladies  in  the  land. 
As  he  sees  you  every  day,  though  you  cannot  see  him,  place 
one  of  La  Bougival’s  pots  of  pinks  in  your  window,  and  that 
will  tell  him  that  he  may  appear  before  you.” 

Ursule  burnt  this  letter  without  mentioning  it  to  Savinien. 
Two  days  later  she  received  another,  in  these  terms  : 

“You  were  wrong,  dear  Ursule,  not  to  reply  to  him  who 
loves  you  better  than  his  life.  You  fancy  you  will  marry 
Savinien,  but  you  are  strangely  mistaken.  That  marriage  will 
never  take  place.  Madame  de  Portenduere,  who  will  see  you 
no  more  at  her  house,  is  going  this  morning  to  La  Rouvre, 
on  foot,  in  spite  of  the  weak  state  she  is  in,  to  ask  Made- 
moiselle du  Rouvre  in  marriage  for  Savinien.  He  will  finally 
yield.  What  objection  can  he  make  ? The  young  lady’s 
uncles  will  settle  their  fortune  on  their  niece  at  her  marriage. 
That  fortune  amounts  to  sixty  thousand  francs  a year.” 

This  letter  tortured  Ursule’s  heart  by  making  her  acquainted 
with  the  torments  of  jealousy,  pangs  hitherto  unknown,  which, 
to  her  finely  organized  nature,  so  alive  to  suffering,  swamped 
the  present,  the  future,  and  even  the  past  in  grief.  From  the 


198 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


moment  when  she  received  this  fatal  missive,  she  sat  motion- 
less in  the  doctor’s  armchair,  her  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy,  and 
lost  in  a sorrowful  reverie.  In  an  instant  the  chill  of  death  had 
come  on  her  instead  of  the  glow  of  exquisite  life.  Alas  ! It 
was  worse ; it  was,  in  fact,  the  dreadful  awakening  of  the 
dead  to  find  that  there  is  no  God — the  masterpiece  of  that 
strange  genius  Jean  Paul.  Four  times  did  La  Bougival  try  to 
persuade  Ursule  to  eat  her  breakfast ; she  saw  the  girl  take  up 
her  bread  and  lay  it  down  again,  unable  to  carry  it  to  her 
lips.  When  she  ventured  to  offer  a remonstrance,  Ursule 
stopped  her  with  a wave  of  the  hand,  saying  Hush  ! in  a 
terrible  tone,  as  despotic  as  it  had  hitherto  always  been  sweet. 
La  Bougival,  watching  her  mistress  through  a glass  door  be- 
tween the  rooms,  saw  her  turn  alternately  as  red  as  if  fever 
were  consuming  her,  and  then  Blue,  as  though  an  ague  fit  had 
followed  the  fever.  By  about  four  o’clock,  when  Ursule  rose 
every  few  minutes  to  look  whether  Savinien  was  coming,  and 
Savinien  came  not,  she  became  evidently  worse.  Jealousy 
and  doubt  destroy  all  the  bashfulness  of  love.  Ursule,  who 
till  now  had  never  allowed  her  passion  to  be  detected  in  the 
least  gesture,  put  on  her  hat  and  her  little  shawl,  and  ran  into 
the  passage  to  go  out  and  meet  Savinien  ; but  a remnant  of 
reserve  brought  her  back  into  the  little  sitting-room.  There 
she  wept. 

When  the  cure  came  in  the  evening,  the  poor  old  nurse 
stopped  him  on  the  threshold. 

“ Oh,  Monsieur  le  Cure,  I do  not  know  what  ails  mademoi- 
selle ; she ” 

“ I know,”  said  the  priest  sadly,  silencing  the  frightened 
attendant. 

The  abbe  then  told  Ursule  what  she  had  not  dared  to  ask  : 
4i  Madame  de  Portenduere  had  gone  to  dine  at  Le  Rouvre.” 

“ And  Savinien  ? ” 

“ He  too.” 

Ursule  shuddered  nervously — a shudder  which  thrilled  the 


THE  Mi  HO  RET  PROPERTY. 


199 


Abb6  Chaperon  as  though  he  had  received  a shock  from  a 
Leyden  jar,  and  he  felt  a painful  turmoil  at  his  heart. 

“ So  we  shall  not  go  to  her  house  this  evening,”  said  he. 
“ But,  indeed,  my  child,  you  will  be  wise  never  to  go  there 
again.  The  old  lady  might  receive  you  in  a way  that  would 
wound  your  pride.  We,  having  brought  her  to  listen  to  the 
idea  of  your  marriage  to  Savinien,  cannot  imagine  what  ill- 
wind  has  blown  to  change  her  views  in  an  instant.” 

“ I am  prepared  for  anything ; nothing  can  astonish  me 
now,”  said  Ursule  in  a tone  of  conviction.  “ In  such  ex- 
tremities it  is  a great  comfort  to  feel  that  I have  done  nothing 
to  offend  God.” 

“ Submit,  my  dear  daughter,  and  never  try  to  inquire  into 
the  ways  of  Providence,”  said  the  cure. 

“ I do  not  wish  to  show  any  unjust  suspicion  of  M.  de  Por- 
tenduere’s  character ” 

“ Why  do  you  no  longer  call  him  Savinien?”  asked  the 
abbe,  observing  a certain  bitterness  in  Ursule’s  tone. 

“ My  dear  Savinien  ! ” she  went  on,  with  a burst  of  tears. 
“Yes,  my  good  friend,”  she  said,  sobbing,  “a  voice  assures 
me  that  his  heart  is  as  noble  as  his  birth.  He  has  not  merely 
told  me  that  he  loves  me ; he  has  proved  it  in  a thousand 
delicate  ways,  and  by  heroically  controlling  the  ardor  of  his 
passion.  Lately,  when  he  took  my  hand  that  I held  out  to 
him,  when  Monsieur  Bongrand  proposed  to  me  for  a notary, 
I declare  to  you  that  it  was  the  first  time  I had  ever  offered  it 
to  him.  Though  he  began,  bv  a jest,  blowing  me  a kiss  across 
the  street,  since  then  our  affection  has  never  once,  as  you 
know,  overstepped  the  strictest  limits ; but  I may  tell  you — 
you  who  read  my  whole  soul  excepting  the  one  spot  which  is 
open  only  to  the  angels — well,  this  affection  is  in  me  the 
foundation  of  many  virtues.  It  has  enabled  me  to  accept 
my  poverty ; it  has,  perhaps,  softened  the  bitterness  of  the 
irreparable  loss  for  which  I mourn  now  more  in  my  garments 
than  in  my  heart ! Yes,  I have  done  wrong — for  my  love 


200 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


has  been  greater  than  my  gratitude  to  my  godfather ; and 
God  has  avenged  him  ! How  could  I help  it?  What  I valued 
myself  for  was  as  Savinien’s  wife.  I have  been  too  proud  ; 
and  it  is  that  pride,  perhaps,  that  God  is  punishing.  God 
alone,  as  you  have  often  told  me,  ought  to  be  the  spring  and 
end  of  all  we  do.” 

The  cure  was  touched  as  he  saw  the  tears  rolling  down  her 
cheeks,  already  paler.  The  greater  the  poor  girl’s  confidence 
had  been,  the  lower  she  had  fallen. 

* ‘ However,”  she  went  on,  ‘ ‘ reduced  once  more  to  my  or- 
phaned state,  I shall  be  able  to  accustom  myself  to  the  proper 
frame  of  mind.  After  all,  could  I bear  to  be  a stone  round 
the  neck  of  the  man  I love  ! What  should  he  do  here?  Who 
am  I that  I should  aspire  to  him  ? Do  I not  love  him  with 
such  perfect  love  that  it  is  equal  to  a complete  sacrifice  of  my 
happiness,  of  my  hopes  ? And  you  know  I have  often  blamed 
myself  for  setting  my  love  on  a tomb,  and  looking  forward 
to  the  morrow  of  that  old  lady’s  death.  If  Savinien  can  be 
rich  and  happy  through  another  woman,  I have  just  money 
enough  to  purchase  my  admission  to  a convent,  to  which  I 
shall  at  once  retire.  There  ought  not  to  be  two  loves  in  a 
woman’s  heart,  any  more  than  there  are  two  Lords  in  heaven. 
The  religious  life  will  have  its  charms  for  me.” 

“ He  could  not  allow  his  mother  to  go  alone  to  Le 
Rouvre,”  said  the  kind  priest  gently. 

“ We  will  talk  no  more  of  it,  my  dear  Monsieur  Chaperon. 
I will  write  to  him  this  evening  to  give  him  his  liberty.  I 
am  glad  to  be  obliged  to  close  the  windows  of  my  sitting- 
room.” 

She  then  told  him  about  the  anonymous  letters,  saying  that 
she  would  offer  no  encouragement  to  this  unknown  suitor. 

“ Ah  ! then  it  is  an  anonymous  letter  that  has  prompted 
Madame  de  Portenduere’s  expedition  to  Le  Rouvre!”  ex- 
claimed the  cure.  “You  are,  no  doubt,  the  object  of  some 
malignant  persecution.” 


THE  MIN O RET  PROPERTY. 


201 


“ But  why?  Neither  Savinien  nor  I have  injured  any  one, 
and  we  are  doing  no  harm  to  any  one  here.” 

“ Well,  well,  my  child.  We  will  take  advantage  of  this 
tornado  which  has  broken  up  our  little  party  to  arrange  our 
poor  old  friend’s  books ; they  are  still  piled  in  disorder. 
Bongrand  and  I will  set  them  straight,  for  we  had  thought  of 
hunting  through  them.  Put  your  trust  in  God ; but  remem- 
ber, too,  that  in  the  justice  and  myself  you  have  two  devoted 
friends.” 

“ And  that  is  much,”  she  said,  walking  to  the  end  of  the 
little  alley  with  the  priest,  and  craning  her  neck  like  a bird 
looking  out  of  its  nest,  still  hoping  to  see  Savinien. 

At  this  instant  Minoret  and  Goupil,  coming  home  from  a 
walk  in  the  country,  stopped  as  they  were  passing,  and  the 
heir-at-law  said  to  Ursule — 

“ What  is  the  matter,  cousin? — for  we  are  still  cousins,  are 
we  not?  You  look  altered.” 

Goupil  cast  such  ardent  eyes  on  Ursule  that  she  was  fright- 
ened. She  ran  in  without  replying. 

“ She  is  a wild  bird,”  said  Minoret  to  the  cur6. 

“ Mademoiselle  Mirouet  is  quite  right  not  to  talk  to  men 
on  her  doorstep ; she  is  too  young ” 

“ Oh  ! ” said  Goupil;  “ you  must  be  well  aware  that  she 
does  not  lack  lovers ! ” 

The  cure  bowed  hastily,  and  hurried  off  to  the  Rue  des 
Bourgeois. 

“Well,”  said  the  lawyer’s  clerk  to  Minoret,  “the  fat  is 
burning.  She  is  as  pale  as  death  already ; within  a fortnight 
she  will  have  left  the  town.  You  will  see.” 

“ It  is  better  to  have  you  for  a friend  than  for  an  enemy,” 
said  Minoret,  struck  by  the  horrible  smile  which  gave  to 
Goupil’ s face  the  diabolical  expression  which  Joseph  Bridau 
gave  to  Goethe’s  Mephistopheles. 

“ I believe  you  ! ” replied  Goupil.  “ If  she  will  not  marry 
me,  I will  make  her  die  of  grief.” 


202 


UR  SUL E MIROUMT. 


“ Do  so,  boy,  and  I will  give  you  money  enough  to  start 
in  business  in  Paris.  Then  you  can  marry  a rich  wife ” 

“Poor  girl! — why,  what  harm  has  she  done  to  you?’* 
asked  the  clerk  in  surprise. 

“ I am  sick  of  her,”  said  Minoret  roughly. 

“ Only  wait  till  Monday,  and  you  shall  see  how  I will  make 
her  squirm,”  replied  Goupil,  studying  the  postmaster’s  coun- 
tenance. 

Next  morning  La  Bougival  went  to  see  Savinien,  and  as  she 
gave  him  a note,  she  said,  “ I don’t  know  what  the  dear  child 
has  written  to  you  about,  but  she  looks  like  a corpse  this 
morning.” 

Who,  on  reading  this  letter  to  Savinien,  can  fail  to  picture 
the  sufferings  Ursule  must  have  endured  during  the  past  night? 

“ My  dear  Savinien  : — Your  mother  wishes  you  to  marry 
Mademoiselle  du  Rouvre,  I am  told ; perhaps  she  is  right. 
You  see  yourself  between  a life  almost  of  poverty  and  a posi- 
tion of  wealth,  between  the  wife  of  your  heart  and  a woman  of 
fashion,  between  obedience  to  your  mother  and  obedience  to 
your  own  choice — for  I still  believe  that  I am  your  choice. 
Savinien,  since  you  must  decide,  I wish  that  you  should  do  so 
in  perfect  freedom.  I give  you  back  your  word — given  not 
to  me,  but  to  yourself,  at  a moment  which  I can  never  forget, 
and  which,  like  all  the  days  that  have  passed  since  then,  was 
angelically  pure  and  sweet.  That  memory  will  be  enough  for 
me  to  live  on.  If  you  should  persist  in  adhering  to  your 
vows,  a dark  and  dreadful  thought  would  always  trouble  my 
happiness.  In  the  midst  of  our  privations,  which  you  now 
take  so  lightly,  you  might  afterwards  reflect  that,  if  you  had 
but  followed  the  rules  of  the  world,  things  might  have  been 
very  different  with  you.  If  you  were  the  man  to  utter  such  a 
thought,  it  would  be  my  death-warrant  in  bitter  anguish  ; and 
if  you  did  not  say  it,  I should  be  suspicious  of  the  slightest 
cloud  on  your  brow.  Dear  Savinien,  I have  always  cared  for 


THE  MIN O RET  PROPERTY. 


203 


you  more  than  for  anything  on  earth.  I might  do  so ; for 
my  godfather,  though  jealous  of  you,  said  to  me,  ‘ Love  him, 
my  child  ! you  will  certainly  be  his,  and  he  yours  some  day.* 
When  I went  to  Paris  I loved  you  without  hope,  and  that  love 
was  enough  for  me.  I do  not  know  whether  I can  revert  to 
that  state  of  mind,  but  I will  try.  What  are  we  to  each  other 
at  this  moment  ? A brother  and  sister.  Let  us  remain  so. 
Marry  the  happy  girl,  whose  joy  it  will  be  to  restore  to  your 
name  the  lustre  due  to  it,  which  I,  according  to  your  mother, 
must  tarnish.  You  shall  never  hear  me  mentioned.  The 
world  will  applaud  you ; I,  believe  me,  shall  never  blame  you, 
and  shall  always  love  you.  So,  farewell.” 

“ Wait ! ” cried  the  young  man.  He  made  La  Bougival 
sit  down,  and,  going  to  his  desk,  he  hastily  wrote  these  few 
lines : 

“ My  dear  Ursule  : — Your  letter  breaks  my  heart,  for  you 
are  inflicting  on  yourself  much  useless  pain,  and  for  the  first 
time  our  hearts  have  failed  to  understand  each  other.  That 
you  are  not  already  my  wife  is  because  I cannot  yet  marry 
without  my  mother’s  consent.  After  all,  are  not  eight  thou- 
sand francs  a year,  in  a pretty  cottage  on  the  banks  of  the 
Loing,  quite  a fortune  ? We  calculated  that,  with  La  Bougi- 
val, we  could  save  five  thousand  francs  a year.  You  allowed 
me  one  evening  in  your  uncle’s  garden  to  regard  you  as  my 
promised  wife,  and  you  cannot  by  yourself  alone  break  the 
ties  which  bind  us  both.  Need  I tell  you  that  I plainly 
declared,  yesterday,  to  Monsieur  du  Rouvre  that,  even  if  I 
were  free,  I would  not  accept  a fortune  from  a young  lady 
whom  I did  not  know  ? My  mother  refuses  to  see  you  any 
more ; I lose  the  happiness  of  my  evenings,  but  do  not 
abridge  the  brief  moments  when  I may  speak  with  you  at 

your  window.  Till  this  evening,  then Nothing  can 

part  us.” 


204 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


“ Go  now,  my  good  woman.  She  must  not  have  a moment’s 
needless  anxiety.” 

That  afternoon,  on  his  return  from  the  walk  he  took  every 
day  on  purpose  to  pass  by  Ursule’s  dwelling,  Savinien  found 
her  somewhat  the  paler  for  all  these  sudden  agitations. 

“ I feel  as  though  I had  never  till  this  moment  known  what 
a happiness  it  is  to  see  you,”  said  she. 

“You  yourself  said  to  me,”  replied  Savinien,  with  a smile, 
“ that  ‘ Love  cannot  exist  without  patience  ; I will  wait  ’ — 
for  I remember  all  your  words.  But  have  you,  my  dear  child, 
divided  love  from  faith  ? Ah  ! this  is  the  end  of  all  our  dif- 
ferences. You  have  always  said  that  you  loved  me  more  than 
I could  love  you.  But  have  I ever  doubted  you?  ” he  asked, 
giving  her  a bunch  of  wildflowers  chosen  so  as  to  symbolize 
his  feelings. 

“You  have  no  reason  to  doubt  me,”  she  replied.  “Be- 
sides, you  do  not  know  all,”  she  added,  in  a tone  of 
uneasiness. 

She  had  given  orders  that  no  letters  to  her  by  post  should 
be  taken  in.  But  without  her  being  able  to  guess  by  what 
conjuring  trick  the  thing  had  been  done,  a few  minutes  after 
Savinien  had  left  her,  and  she  had  watched  him  round  the 
turning  of  the  Rue  des  Bourgeois  out  of  the  High  Street, 
she  found  on  her  armchair  a piece  of  paper  on  which  was 
written — 

“ Tremble  ! the  lover  scorned  will  be  worse  than  a tiger.” 

Notwithstanding  Savinien’s  entreaties,  she  would  not,  out 
of  prudence,  trust  him  with  the  dreadful  secret  of  her  fears. 
The  ineffable  joy  of  seeing  him  again,  after  believing  him 
lost  to  her,  could  alone  enable  her  to  forget  the  mortal  chill 
which  came  over  her.  Every  one  knows  the  intolerable  tor- 
ment of  awaiting  an  indefinite  misfortune.  Suffering  then 
assumes  the  proportions  of  the  unknown,  which  is  certainly 
infinitude,  to  the  mind.  To  Ursule  it  was  the  greatest 
anguish.  She  found  herself  starting  violently  at  the  slightest 


THE  MIN O RET  PROPERTY. 


206 


sound ; she  distrusted  the  silence ; she  suspected  the  walls  of 
conspiracies.  Her  peaceful  sleep  was  broken.  Goupil,  with- 
out knowing  anything  of  her  constitution — as  fragile  as  that 
of  a flower — had,  by  the  instinct  of  wickedness,  hit  on  the 
poison  that  would  blight  it — kill  it. 

The  next  day,  however,  passed  without  any  shock.  Ursule 
played  the  piano  till  very  late,  and  went  to  bed  almost  re- 
assured, and  overpowered  by  sleep.  At  about  midnight  she 
was  roused  by  a band,  consisting  of  a clarionet,  a hautboy,  a 
flute,  a cornet-a-pistons,  a trombone,  a bassoon,  a fife,  and  a 
triangle.  All  the  neighbors  were  at  their  windows.  The 
poor  child,  upset  by  seeing  a crowd  in  the  street,  was  struck 
to  the  heart  on  hearing  a hoarse,  vulgar  man’s  voice  crying 
out — 

“ For  the  fair  Ursule  Mirouet,  a serenade  from  her  lover  ! ” 

At  church  next  morning  all  the  town  was  in  a hubbub ; 
and  as  Ursule  entered  and  quitted  the  church,  she  saw  the 
square  filled  with  groups  staring  at  her,  and  displaying  the 
most  odious  curiosity.  The  serenade  had  set  every  tongue 
wagging,  for  every  one  was  lost  in  conjecture.  Ursule  got 
home  more  dead  than  alive,  and  went  out  no  more,  the  cure 
having  advised  her  to  say  vespers  at  home.  On  going  in  she 
saw,  lying  in  the  passage  paved  with  red  brick  that  ran  from 
the  street  to  the  courtyard  behind,  a letter  that  had  been 
slipped  under  the  door ; she  picked  it  up  and  read  it,  prompted 
by  the  desire  for  some  explanation.  The  least  sensitive  reader 
can  imagine  her  feelings  as  she  saw  these  terrible  words : 

“ Make  up  your  mind  to  be  my  wife,  rich  and  adored.  I 
will  have  you.  If  you  are  not  mine  alive,  you  shall  be,  dead. 
You  may  ascribe  to  your  refusal  misfortunes  which  will  not 
fall  on  you  alone.  He  who  loves  you  and  will  some  day 
possess  YOU.” 

Strange  irony ! at  the  moment  when  the  gentle  victim 


206 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


of  this  conspiracy  was  drooping  like  a plucked  flower, 
Mesdemoiselles  Massin,  Dionis,  and  Cremiere  were  envying 
her  lot. 

“ She  is  a happy  girl,”  they  were  saying.  “Men  are 
devoted  to  her,  flatter  her  taste,  are  ready  to  quarrel  for  her. 
The  serenade  was  delightful,  it  would  seem ! There  was  a 
cornet-a-pistons  ! ” 

“ What  is  a cornet-a-pistons  ? ” 

“ A new  sort  of  musical  instrument — there — as  long  as 
that  ! ” said  Angelique  Cremiere  to  Pamela  Massin. 

Early  the  next  day  Savinien  went  off  to  Fontainebleau  to 
inquire  who  had  ordered  the  musicians  of  the  regiment 
stationed  there ; but,  as  there  were  two  men  to  each  instru- 
ment, it  was  impossible  to  ascertain  which  one  had  gone  to 
Nemours,  since  the  colonel  prohibited  them  from  playing 
for  private  persons  without  his  leave.  Monsieur  de  Porten- 
duere  had  an  interview  with  the  public  prosecutor,  Ursule’s 
legal  guardian,  and  explained  to  him  the  serious  effect  such 
scenes  must  have  on  a young  girl  so  delicate  and  fragile  as  she 
was,  begging  him  to  find  out  the  instigator  of  this  serenade 
by  means  that  the  law  could  set  in  motion. 

Three  days  later,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  a second 
serenade  was  given  by  three  violins,  a flute,  a guitar,  and  a 
hautboy.  On  this  occasion  the  musicians  made  off"  by  the 
road  to  Montargis,  where  there  was  just  then  a troupe  of 
actors.  Between  two  pieces  a strident  and  drunken  voice 
had  proclaimed : 

“To  the  daughter  of  Bandmaster  Mirouet.” 

Thus  all  Nemours  was  apprised  of  the  profession  of  Ursule’s 
father,  the  secret  the  old  doctor  had  so  carefully  kept. 

But  this  time  Savinien  did  not  go  to  Montargis ; he  received 
in  the  course  of  the  day  an  anonymous  letter  from  Paris  con- 
taining this  terrible  prophecy  : 

“You  shall  not  marry  Ursule.  If  you  wish  her  to  live, 
make  haste  and  surrender  her  to  him  who  loves  her  more  than 


THE  MIN O RET  PROPERTY. 


207 


you  do ; for  he  has  become  a musician  and  an  artist  to  please 
her,  and  would  rather  see  her  dead  than  as  your  wife.” 

By  this  time  the  town  doctor  of  Nemours  was  seeing  Ursule 
three  times  a day,  for  this  covert  persecution  had  brought  her 
to  the  point  of  death.  Plunged,  as  she  felt  herself,  by  a 
diabolical  hand  into  a slough  of  mud,  the  gentle  girl  behaved 
like  a martyr;  she  lay  perfectly  silent,  raising  her  eyes  to 
heaven,  without  tears,  awaiting  further  blows  with  fervent 
prayer,  and  hoping  for  the  stroke  that  might  be  her  death. 

“I  am  glad  to  be  unable  to  go  downstairs,”  said  she  to 
Monsieur  Bongrand  and  the  abbe,  who  stayed  with  her  as 
much  as  possible.  “ He  would  come,  and  I feel  unworthy 
to  meet  the  looks  with  which  he  is  in  the  habit  of  making  me 
blest.  Do  you  think  he  doubts  me?” 

“Why,  if  Savinien  cannot  discover  the  moving  spirit  of  all 
this  shameful  business,  he  means  to  ask  for  the  intervention  of 
the  Paris  police,”  said  Bongrand. 

“ The  unknown  persons  must  know  that  they  have  killed 
me,”  she  replied.  “ They  will  be  quiet  now.” 

The  cure,  Bongrand,  and  Savinien  puzzled  themselves  with 
conjectures  and  suppositions.  Savinien,  Tiennette,  La  Bou- 
gival,  and  two  devoted  adherents  of  the  cure’s  constituted 
themselves  spies,  and  were  constantly  on  the  watch  for  a 
whole  week  ; but  Goupil  could  never  be  betrayed  by  a sign, 
he  pulled  all  the  wires  with  his  own  hand.  The  justice  was 
the  first  to  suspect  that  the  author  of  the  evil  was  frightened 
at  his  own  success.  Ursule  was  as  pale  and  weak  as  a con- 
sumptive English  girl.  The  spies  relaxed  their  efforts.  There 
were  no  more  serenades  nor  letters.  Savinien  ascribed  the 
cessation  of  these  odious  means  to  the  secret  energy  of  the 
law  officers,  to  whom  he  had  sent  the  letters  written  to  Ursule, 
to  himself,  and  to  his  mother. 

The  armistice  was  of  no  long  duration.  When  the  doctor 
had  checked  the  course  of  Ursule’s  nervous  fever,  just  as  she 


208 


URSULE  MIROUET 


was  recovering  her  spirit,  one  morning,  about  the  middle  of 
July,  a ladder  of  ropes  was  found  attached  to  her  window. 
The  postillion  who  had  ridden  with  the  night  mail  deposed 
that  a little  man  was  in  the  act  of  coming  down  it  just  as  he 
was  passing ; but  in  spite  of  his  wishing  to  stop,  his  horses, 
having  set  off  down  hill  from  the  bridge,  at  the  corner  of 
which  stood  Ursule’s  little  house,  had  carried  him  some  way 
out  of  Nemours. 

An  opinion,  suggested  in  Dionis’  drawing-room,  attributed 
these  manoeuvres  to  the  Marquis  du  Rouvre,  at  that  time  in 
great  need  of  money,  who,  it  was  supposed,  by  hastening 
Savinien’s  marriage  with  his  daughter,  would  be  able  to  save 
the  Chateau  of  Le  Rouvre  from  his  creditors.  Madame  de 
Portenduere  also,  it  was  said,  looked  with  favor  on  anything 
that  could  discredit,  dishonor,  and  blight  Ursule  ; but  when 
the  young  girl  seemed  likely  to  die,  the  old  lady  was  almost 
conquered. 

This  last  stroke  of  malice  so  much  distressed  the  Cure 
Chaperon  that  it  made  him  ill  enough  to  compel  him  to 
remain  at  home  for  some  days.  Poor  Ursule,  in  whom  this 
cruel  attack  had  brought  on  a relapse,  received  by  post  a 
note  from  the  cure,  which  was  not  refused,  as  his  writing 
was  familiar. 

“My  child,  leave  Nemours,  and  so  discomfort  the  malice 
of  your  unknown  enemies.  Perhaps  what  they  aim  at  is  to 
imperil  Savinien’s  life.  I will  tell  you  more  when  I can  go 
to  see  you.”  This  note  was  signed,  “Your  devoted  friend 
Chaperon.” 

When  Savinien,  almost  driven  mad,  went  to  call  on  the 
priest,  the  poor  man  read  and  re-read  the  letter,  so  much  was 
he  horrified  at  the  perfection  with  which  his  writing  and 
signature  had  been  imitated,  for  he  had  written  nothing,  and, 
if  he  had  written,  he  would  not  have  employed  the  post  to 
carry  a letter  to  Ursule.  The  mortal  anguish  to  which  this 
last  villainy  reduced  Ursule  compelled  Savinien  once  more  to 


THE  MINORET  PROPERTY. 


209 


apply  to  the  public  prosecutor,  showing  him  the  forged  letter 
from  the  abbe. 

“ It  is  murder,”  said  the  young  man  to  the  lawyer.  “ Mur- 
der is  being  committed  by  means  not  provided  against  by  law, 
on  the  person  of  an  orphan  placed  under  your  protection  by 
the  Civil  Code.” 

“If  you  can  discover  any  means  of  interfering,”  replied 
the  public  prosecutor,  “ I am  ready  to  adopt  them ; but  I 
know  of  none.  This  rascally  anonymous  letter  gives  the  best 
advice.  Mademoiselle  Mirouet  must  be  sent  to  the  care  of 
the  Ladies  of  the  Adoration.  Meanwhile,  by  my  order,  the 
commissary  of  police  at  Fontainebleau  will  authorize  you  to 
carry  weapons  in  your  own  defense.  I myself  have  been  to 
Le  Rouvre,  and  Monsieur  du  Rouvre  is  justifiably  indignant 
at  the  suspicions  that  have  attached  to  him.  Minoret,  my 
deputy’s  father,  is  in  treaty  for  the  purchase  of  his  chateau. 
Mademoiselle  du  Rouvre  is  to  marry  a rich  Polish  count. 
Monsieur  du  Rouvre  himself  was  about  to  leave  the  neighbor- 
hood on  the  day  of  my  visit,  to  escape  being  seized  for  debt.” 

Desire,  questioned  by  his  chief,  dared  not  say  what  he 
thought ; he  recognized  Goupil  in  all  this.  Goupil  alone 
was  capable  of  conducting  a plot  which  should  thus  shave 
close  to  the  Penal  Code  without  being  amenable  to  any  of  its 
provisions.  The  impunity,  the  secrecy,  the  success  of  it,  in- 
creased Goupil’s  audacity.  The  terrible  man  had  set  Massin, 
who  had  become  his  dupe,  on  the  tracks  of  the  Marquis  du 
Rouvre,  to  compel  that  gentleman  to  sell  the  rest  of  his  land 
to  Minoret.  After  opening  negotiations  with  a notary  at 
Sens,  he  determined  to  try  a last  stroke  to  gain  possession  of 
Ursule.  He  thought  he  could  imitate  some  young  men  of 
Paris,  who  owed  their  wife  and  fortune  to  an  elopement.  His 
services  done  to  Minoret,  Massin,  and  Cremiere,  and  the  pro- 
tection of  Dionis,  mayor  of  Nemours,  would  allow  of  his 
hushing  the  matter  up.  He  at  once  determined  to  cast  off  his 
mask,  believing  that  Ursule  was  incapable  of  resistance  in  the 
14 


210 


URSULE  MI  ROUE  T 


state  of  weakness  to  which  he  had  brought  her.  However, 
before  risking  the  last  card  of  his  base  game,  he  thought  it 
well  to  have  an  explanation  at  Le  Rouvre,  whither  he  went 
with  Minoret,  who  was  going  there  for  the  first  time  since  the 
agreement  was  signed. 

Minoret  had  just  received  a confidential  letter  from  his 
son,  asking  him  for  information  as  to  what  was  going  on  with 
regard  to  Ursule,  before  going  himself  with  the  public  prose- 
cutor to  place  her  in  a convent  safe  from  any  further  atrocity. 
The  young  lawyer  besought  his  father  to  give  him  his  best 
advice,  if  this  persecution  were  the  work  of  one  of  their 
friends.  Though  justice  could  not  always  punish,  she  would 
at  last  find  everything  out  and  make  good  note  of  it.  Min- 
oret had  achieved  his  great  end ; he  was  now  the  immovable 
owner  of  the  Chateau  du  Rouvre,  one  of  the  finest  in  all  the 
Gatinais,  and  he  could  derive  forty-odd  thousand  francs  a 
year  from  the  rich  and  beautiful  land  surrounding  the  park. 
The  colossus  could  laugh  at  Goupil  now.  Moreover,  he 
meant  to  live  in  the  country,  where  the  memory  of  Ursule 
would  haunt  him  no  more. 

“ My  boy,”  said  he  to  Goupil,  as  they  paced  the  terrace, 
“ leave  my  little  cousin  in  peace  ! ” 

“ Pooh  ! ” said  the  clerk,  who  could  make  nothing  of  his 
capricious  behavior,  for  even  stupidity  has  its  depths. 

“ Oh,  I am  not  ungrateful : you  have  helped  me  to  get,  for 
two  hundred  and  eighty  thousand  francs,  this  fine  mansion  of 
brick  and  hewn  stone,  which  certainly  could  not  now  be  built 
for  nearly  five  times  the  price,  with  the  home  farm,  the  park, 
the  gardens,  and  timber — Well,  yes,  I will,  on  my  word — I 
will  give  you  ten  per  cent. — twenty  thousand  francs,  with 
which  you  can  buy  a bailiffs  practice  at  Nemours.  And  I 
guarantee  your  marriage  with  one  of  the  Crdmiere  girls — the 
elder.” 

“The  one  who  talked  of  the  cornet-a-pistons?”  cried 
Goupil. 


THE  MI  NO  RET  PROPERTY. 


211 


“But  her  mother  will  give  her  thirty  thousand  francs,” 
said  Minoret.  “You  see,  my  boy,  you  were  born  to  be  a 
bailiff,  just  as  I was  made  to  be  a postmaster,  and  we  must  all 
obey  our  vocation.” 

“Very  well,”  said  Goupil,  fallen  from  his  high  hopes, 
“here  are  the  stamps;  sign  me  bills  for  twenty  thousand 
francs,  that  I may  make  my  bargain  cash  in  hand.” 

Eighteen  thousand  francs  were  due  to  Minoret,  the  half- 
yearly  interest  on  securities  of  which  his  wife  knew  nothing  ; 
he  thought  he  should  thus  be  rid  of  Goupil,  and  he  signed 
the  bills.  Goupil,  seeing  this  huge  and  stupid  Machiavelli 
of  the  Rue  des  Bourgeois  in  a fit  of  seignorial  fever,  took 
leave  of  him  with  an  “ Au  revoir,”  and  a look  that  would 
have  made  any  one  but  a parvenu  simpleton  tremble  as  he 
looked  down  from  a high  terrace  on  the  gardens,  and  the 
handsome  roof  of  a chateau  built  in  the  style  fashionable 
under  Louis  XIII. 

“You  will  not  wait  for  me?”  he  cried  to  Goupil,  seeing 
the  clerk  set  out  on  foot. 

“You  can  pick  me  up  on  the  road,  old  man,”  replied  the 
prospective  bailiff,  thirsting  for  vengeance,  and  curious  to 
know  the  answer  to  the  riddle  presented  to  his  mind  by  the 
strangely  tortuous  conduct  of  this  old  man. 

Ever  since  the  day  when  the  most  infamous  calumny  had 
darkened  her  life,  Ursule,  a prey  to  one  of  those  unaccount- 
able maladies  whose  seat  is  in  the  soul,  was  hastening  to  the 
grave.  Excessively  pale,  speaking  rarely  a few  weak,  slow 
words,  looking  about  her  with  a gentle,  indifferent  gaze, 
everything  in  her  appearance,  even  her  brow,  showed  that  she 
was  possessed  by  a consuming  thought.  She  believed  that 
the  ideal  crown  of  pure  flowers,  with  which  in  every  age  and 
nation  the  brow  of  a maiden  has  been  supposed  to  be  crowned, 
had  fallen  from  hers.  In  the  void  and  silence  she  seemed  to 
hear  the  slanderous  remarks,  the  malignant  comments,  the 
mean  laughter  of  the  little  town.  The  burden  was  too  heavy 


212 


UR SUL. E MIK0UE7'. 


for  her ; her  innocence  was  too  sensitive  to  endure  such  a 
stoning.  She  did  not  complain,  a melancholy  smile  lay  on 
her  lips,  and  her  eyes  were  constantly  raised  to  heaven  as 
though  to  appeal  to  the  Lord  of  Angels  against  the  injustice 
of  men. 

When  Goupil  got  back  to  Nemours,  Ursule  had  been 
brought  down  from  her  room  to  the  ground  floor,  leaning  on 
the  arm  of  La  Bougival  and  of  the  doctor.  This  was  in  honor 
of  a great  event.  Madame  de  Portenduere,  having  heard  that 
the  young  girl  was  dying  as  the  ermine  dies,  though  her  honor 
was  less  cruelly  attacked  than  that  of  Clarissa  Harlowe,  had 
come  to  see  her  and  to  comfort  her.  The  sight  of  her  son, 
who  had  been  talking  all  night  of  killing  himself,  had  been 
too  much  for  the  old  lady.  Madame  de  Portenduere,  indeed, 
found  it  quite  becoming  to  her  dignity  to  carry  encourage- 
ment to  so  pure  a creature,  and  regarded  her  own  visit  as  an 
antidote  to  all  the  ill  done  by  the  gossips  of  the  place.  Her 
opinion,  so  much  more  influential,  no  doubt,  than  that  of  the 
vulgar,  would  consecrate  the  power  of  the  nobility. 

This  step,  announced  by  the  Abbe  Chaperon,  had  produced 
a revulsion  in  Ursule  which  revived  the  hopes  of  the  physi- 
cian, who  had  been  in  despair,  and  had  talked  of  holding  a 
consultation  with  the  most  eminent  Paris  doctors.  Ursule 
had  been  placed  in  her  old  guardian’s  armchair,  and  the 
character  of  her  beauty  was  such  that  in  mourning  and  in 
suffering  she  looked  more  lovely  than  at  any  time  in  her 
happy  days.  When  Savinien  came  in,  with  his  mother  on 
his  arm,  the  young  invalid’s  color  mounted  to  her  cheeks 
once  more. 

“Do  not  rise,  my  dear,”  said  the  old  lady,  in  a tone  of 
command.  “ However  ill  and  feeble  I may  be  myself,  I was 
determined  to  come  and  tell  you  what  I think  of  all  that  is 
going  on.  I esteem  you  as  the  purest,  saintliest,  and  sweetest 
girl  in  the  G&tinais,  and  regard  you  as  worthy  to  make  a 
gentleman  of  family  happy.” 


THE  MIN O RET  PROPERTY. 


213 


At  first  Ursule  could  make  no  reply ; she  held  the  withered 
hands  of  Savinien’s  mother  and  kissed  them,  dropping  tears 
upon  them. 

“ Ah,  madame  ! ” she  answered,  in  a weak  voice,  “ I should 
never  have  been  so  bold  as  to  think  of  raising  myself  so  far 
above  my  position  if  I had  not  been  encouraged  by  promises, 
and  my  only  claim  was  a love  without  limits ; but  means 
have  been  found  to  separate  me  for  ever  from  him  whom  I 
love.  I have  been  made  unworthy  of  him.  Never!”  she 
exclaimed,  with  a vehemence  of  tone  that  startled  the  listeners 
painfully — “ never  will  I consent  to  give  to  any  man  a hand 

so  vilified,  a reputation  so  tarnished  ! I loved  too  well 

I may  say  it  now,  wreck  that  I am ; I love  a creature  almost 
as  much  as  God.  And  so  God ” 

“ Come,  come,  child,  do  not  calumniate  God.  Gpme,  my 
daughter,”  said  the  old  lady,  making  a great  effort,  do  not 
exaggerate  the  importance  of  an  infamous  jest  which  no 
one  believes  in.  You  shall  live — I promise  it — live  and  be 
happy.  ’ ’ 

“ You  shall  be  happy!”  cried  Savinien,  kneeling  by 
Ursule,  and  kissing  her  hand.  “ My  mother  calls  you  her 
daughter ! ” 

“That  will  do,”  said  the  doctor,  who  was  feeling  his 
patient’s  pulse.  “Do  not  kill  her  with  joy.” 

At  this  instant  Goupil,  who  had  found  the  gate  into 
the  alley  ajar,  pushed  open  the  drawing-room  door  and 
showed  his  hideous  face,  beaming  with  the  thoughts  of 
revenge  that  had  blossomed  in  his  heart  in  the  course  of 
his  walk. 

“ Monsieur  de  Portenduere,”  said  he,  in  a voice  like  the 
hiss  of  a viper  at  bay  in  its  hole. 

“What  do  you  want?”  said  Savinien,  rising. 

“ I want  to  say  two  words  to  you.” 

Savinien  went  out  into  the  passage,  and  Goupil  led  him 
into  the  yard. 


214 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


“ Swear  to  me  by  the  life  of  Ursule  whom  you  love,  and 
by  your  honor  as  a gentleman  which  you  prize,  so  to  be- 
have as  though  there  were  nothing  known  between  us  of 
what  I am  going  to  tell  you,  and  I will  explain  to  you  the 
sole  cause  of  the  persecutions  turned  against  Mademoiselle 
Mirouet.” 

“ Can  I put  an  end  to  them?” 

“Yes.” 

“Can  I be  revenged?” 

“Yes,  on  the  prime  mover — not  on  the  instrument.” 

“Why?” 

“ The  instrument  is I am  the  instrument.” 

Savinien  turned  white. 

“I  just  caught  sight  of  Ursule ” the  clerk  began 

again. 

“ Ursule?”  said  Savinien,  with  a look  at  the  clerk. 

“Mademoiselle  Mirouet,”  said  Goupil,  made  respectful  by 
Savinien’s  tone;  “and  I would  shed  all  my  blood  to  undo 
what  has  been  done.  I repent.  If  you  were  to  kill  me 
in  a duel  or  in  any  other  way,  of  what  use  would  my  blood 
be  to  you  ? Could  you  drink  it  ? At  this  moment  it  would 
poison  you.” 

The  man’s  cool  reasonableness  and  his  own  curiosity 
quelled  Savinien’s  boiling  blood  ; he  glared  at  this  hunch- 
back spoiled,  with  an  eye  that  made  Goupil  look  down. 

“And  who  set  you  on  the  job?”  asked  the  young 
man. 

“ You  swear?  ” 

“You  wish  to  escape  unharmed?” 

“I  wish  that  you  and  Mademoiselle  Mirouet  should  forgive 
me.” 

“ She  will  forgive  you.  I never  will ! ” 

“ Well,  you  will  forget  ? ” 

How  terrible  is  the  force  of  logic  seconded  by  interest ! 
Two  men,  each  longing  to  rend  the  other,  were  standing 


THE  M1N0RET  PROPERTY. 


215 


there,  close  together,  in  a little  yard,  forced  to  speak  to  each 
other,  united  by  one  feeling  in  common. 

“I  will  forgive  you,  but  I shall  not  forget.” 

“ Of  no  use  whatever,”  said  Goupil,  coldly. 

Savinien  lost  patience.  He  dealt  the  clerk  a slap  on  the 
cheek  that  rang  through  the  yard  ; it  almost  upset  Goupil,  and 
he  himself  staggered  back. 

“ I have  gotten  no  more  than  I deserve,”  said  Goupil.  “ I 
have  been  a fool.  I thought  you  a finer  fellow  than  you  are. 
You  have  taken  a mean  advantage  of  the  opportunity  I offered 
you.  You  are  in  my  power  now!  ” he  added,  with  a flash 
of  hatred  at  Savinien. 

“You  are  a murderer  ! ” exclaimed  Savinien. 

“No  more  than  the  knife  in  the  assassin’s  hand,”  replied 
Goupil. 

“ I ask  your  forgiveness,”  said  Savinien. 

“ Are  you  sufficiently  revenged  ? ” said  the  clerk  with  savage 
irony.  “ Will  you  now  rest  satisfied  ? ’ ’ 

“Forgive  and  forget  on  both  sides,”  replied  Savinien. 

“Your  hand  on  it  ? ” said  Goupil,  holding  out  his. 

“Here  it  is,”  said  Savinien,  swallowing  the  indignity  out 
of  love  for  Ursule.  “ But  speak:  who  was  behind  you?” 

Goupil  paused,  considering  the  two  dishes  of  the  scale,  so 
to  speak,  with  Savinien’s  slap  on  one  side,  and  on  the  other 
his  hatred  of  Minoret.  For  two  seconds  he  doubted  ; then  a 
voice  said  to  him  : “ You  can  be  a notary  ! ” and  he  replied, 
“Forgive  and  forget?  Yes,  on  both  sides,  monsieur,”  and 
he  clasped  Savinien’s  hand. 

“Who  is  it,  then,  that  is  persecuting  Ursule?”  said  Sav- 
inien. 

“Minoret.  He  would  like  to  see  her  dead  and  buried. 
Why,  I do  not  know ; but  we  will  find  out  the  reason.  Do 
not  mix  me  up  in  the  matter.  I can  do  nothing  more  for  you 
if  once  I am  suspected.  Instead  of  attacking  Ursule,  I will 
defend  her ; instead  of  serving  Minoret,  I will  try  to  spoil  his 


216 


UR SUL. E MIROUET. 


game.  I live  only  to  ruin  him,  to  crush  him.  And  I will  see 
him  under  my  feet,  I will  dance  on  his  dead  body,  I will 
make  dominoes  of  his  bones  ! To-morrow,  on  all  the  walls  of 
Nemours,  of  Fontainebleau,  of  Le  Rouvre,  the  words  shall 
be  seen  in  red  chalk — Minoret  is  a thief ! Oh,  I will  do  it, 
by  all  that  is  holy ! I will  blow  him  to  the  four  winds ! 
Now,  we  are  allies  by  my  having  peached.  Well,  if  you  like, 
I will  go  on  my  knees  to  Mademoiselle  Mirouet,  and  tell  her 
that  I curse  the  insane  passion  which  drove  me  to  kill  her.  I 
will  entreat  her  to  forgive  me.  That  will  do  her  good.  The 
justice  and  the  cure  are  there ; those  two  witnesses  are  enough; 
but  Monsieur  Bongrand  must  pledge  his  word  that  he  will  not 
damage  me  in  my  career.  For  I have  a career  now,”  con- 
cluded Goupil. 

“ Wait  a moment,”  replied  Savinien,  quite  bewildered  by 
this  revelation. 

“Ursule,  my  child,”  said  he,  going  back  to  the  drawing- 
room, “ the  cause  of  all  your  misery  has  lived  to  feel  the 
horror  of  his  work  ; he  repents,  and  would  be  glad  to  ask  your 
pardon  in  the  presence  of  these  gentlemen,  on  condition  that 
all  shall  be  forgotten.” 

“What!  Goupil?”  exclaimed  the  cure,  the  justice,  and 
the  doctor  in  a breath. 

“Keep  his  secret,”  said  Ursule,  putting  a finger  on  her 
lips.  ’ 

Goupil  heard  her  words,  and  saw  the  gesture,  and  it  touched 
him. 

“Mademoiselle,”  he  said,  with  feeling,  “I  wish  that  all 
Nemours  might  hear  me  confess  to  you  that  a fatal  passion 
turned  my  head,  and  suggested  to  me  a series  of  crimes  deserv- 
ing the  blame  of  all  honest  folks.  What  I have  said  I will  repeat 
everywhere,  deploring  the  evil  result  of  my  practical  jokes, 
though  they  may,  in  fact,  have  hurried  on  your  happiness,”  he 
added,  a little  maliciously,  as  he  rose,  “ since  I see  Madame 
de  Portenduere  here.” 


THE  MINOR ET  PROPERTY. 


217 


“That  is  right,  Goupil,”  said  the  cure;  “Mademoiselle 
forgives  you.  But  do  not  forget  that  you  have  been  very  near 
committing  murder.” 

“ Monsieur  Bongrand,”  Goupil  went  on,  turning  to  the 
justice,  “lam  going  this  evening  to  try  to  bargain  with  Le- 
coeur  for  his  place  as  summonsing  officer.  I hope  this  con- 
fession will  have  done  me  no  injury  in  your  mind,  and  that 
you  will  support  my  candidature  among  the  superior  lawyers, 
and  to  the  ministry.” 

The  justice  gravely  bowed,  and  Goupil  went  off  to  treat 
for  the  better  of  the  two  appointments  in  Nemours.  The 
others  remained  with  Ursule,  and  endeavored  that  evening  to 
restore  calmness  and  peace  in  her  mind,  which  was  already 
relieved  by  the  satisfaction  given  her  by  the  clerk. 

“All  Nemours  shall  know  it,”  said  Bongrand. 

“You  see,  my  child,  God  was  not  against  you,”  said 
the  cure. 

Minoret  returned  late  from  Le  Rouvre,  and  dined  late. 
At  about  nine  in  the  evening  he  was  sitting  in  his  Chinese 
pavilion  digesting  his  dinner,  his  wife  by  his  side,  and  laying 
plans  with  her  for  Desire’s  future  prospects.  Desire  had 
quite  settled  down  since  he  had  held  an  appointment ; he 
worked  steadily,  and  had  a good  chance,  it  was  said,  of  suc- 
ceeding the  public  prosecutor  of  the  district  of  Fontainebleau, 
who  was  to  be  promoted  to  Melun.  They  must  find  him  a 
wife  now,  a girl  wanting  money,  but  belonging  to  some  old 
and  noble  family ; then  he  might  rise  to  a judgeship  in  Paris. 
Possibly  they  might  be  able  to  get  him  elected  depute  for 
Fontainebleau,  where  Zelie  thought  it  would  be  well  to  settle 
for  the  winter,  after  spending  the  summer  at  Le  Rouvre. 
Minoret,  very  much  pleased  with  himself  for  having  arranged 
everything  for  the  best,  had  ceased  to  think  of  Ursule  at  the 
very  moment  when  the  drama  he  had  so  clumsily  begun  had 
become  so  fatally  complicated. 


218 


UR  SUL  E Af/ROUE’T. 


1 1 Monsieur  de  Portenduere  would  like  to  speak  to  you,” 
said  Cabirolle,  coming  in. 

“ Bring  him  here,”  said  Zelie. 

The  shades  of  dusk  prevented  Madame  Minoret’s  seeing 
her  husband  suddenly  turn  pale  ; he  shuddered  as  he  heard 
Savinien’s  boots  creak  on  the  inlaid  flooring  of  the  passage, 
where  the  doctor’s  books  had  formerly  lined  the  wall.  A 
vague  presentiment  ran  like  a congestive  chill  through  the 
spoiler’s  veins. 

Savinien  came  in.  He  stood  still,  keeping  his  hat  on,  his 
stick  in  his  hand,  his  arms  folded — motionless,  face  to  face 
with  the  couple. 

“ I have  come  to  know,  Monsieur  and  Madame  Minoret, 
the  reasons  which  have  led  you  to  torture  in  the  most  infamous 
manner  the  young  girl  who  is,  to  the  knowledge  of  all  Ne- 
mours, my  future  wife  ; why  you  have  tried  to  brand  her 
honor  ; why  you  wish  her  dead  ; and  why  you  have  abandoned 
her  to  the  insults  of  such  a creature  as  Goupil?  Answer.” 

“ What  a queer  notion,  Monsieur  Savinien,”  said  Zelie, 
“ to  come  and  ask  us  our  reasons  for  a thing  which  is  to  us 
inexplicable  ! I do  not  care  for  Ursule  one  snap.  Since 
Uncle  Minoret’s  death  I have  no  more  given  her  a thought 
than  to  an  old  smock  ! I have  never  breathed  her  name  to 
Goupil — and  a queer  rascal  he  is,  whom  I would  not  trust 
with  the  interests  of  my  dog.  Well,  Minoret,  why  don’t  you 
answer?  Are  you  going  to  let  monsieur  attack  you  and 
accuse  you  of  rascality  that  is  beneath  you  ? As  if  a man 
who  has  forty-eight  thousand  francs  a year  in  landed  estate 
round  a chateau  fit  for  a prince  would  demean  himself  to  such 
folly  ! Wake  up,  man — sitting  there  like  a dummy  ! ” 

“ I don’t  know  what  monsieur  would  be  at,”  said  Minoret 
at  last,  in  his  thin  voice,  of  which  the  clear  accents  betrayed 
its  trembling.  “ What  reason  could  I have  for  persecuting 
the  girl  ? I may  have  said  to  Goupil  that  it  vexed  me  to 
know  that  she  was  in  Nemours  \ my  son  Desire  had  taken  a 


THE  MINORET  PROPERTY. 


219 

fancy  to  her,  and  I would  not  have  him  marry  her,  that 
was  all.  ’ ’ 

“ Goupil  has  confessed  everything,  Monsieur  Minoret.” 

There  was  a moment’s  silence — a terrible  moment,  while 
these  three  persons  watched  each  other.  Zelie  had  detected 
a nervous  movement  in  the  broad  face  of  her  colossus. 

“ Though  you  are  but  vermin,  I intend  to  be  publicly  re- 
venged on  you,”  the  young  nobleman  went  on.  “ I shall  not- 
ask satisfaction  from  you,  a man  of  sixty-seven,  for  the  insults 
heaped  on  Mademoiselle  Mirouet ; but  from  your  son.  The 
first  time  Monsieur  Minoret,  junior,  sets  foot  in  Nemours,  we 
meet.  He  will  have  to  fight  me,  and  he  shall  fight ! Or  he 
shall  be  so  utterly  disgraced  that  he  will  not  dare  to  show  his 
face  anywhere  ; if  he  does  not  come  to  Nemours,  I will  go  to 
Fontainebleau  ! I will  have  satisfaction.  It  shall  never  be 
said  that  you  have  basely  tried  to  bring  shame  on  a defense- 
less girl.” 

“ But  the  calumnies  of  such  a fellow  as  Goupil — really — 
are  not ” said  Minoret. 

“Would  you  like  me  to  confront  you  with  him?”  cried 
Savinien,  interrupting  him.  “ Believe  me,  you  had  better 
not  noise  the  matter ; it  is  between  you  and  Goupil  and  me  ; 
leave  it  so,  and  God  will  decide  the  issue  in  the  duel  to  which 
I shall  do  your  son  the  honor  of  challenging  him.” 

“ But  things  cannot  go  on  like  that ! ” cried  Zelie.  “ What? 
Do  you  suppose  that  I shall  allow  Desire  to  fight  with  you,  a 
naval  officer,  whose  business  it  is  to  use  the  sword  and  pistol  ? 
If  you  have  a score  against  Minoret,  here  is  Minoret ; take 
Minoret,  fight  with  Minoret  ! But  why  should  my  boy,  who, 
by  your  own  confession,  is  innocent  of  it  all,  suffer  the  penalty  ? 
I will  set  a dog  of  mine  to  hinder  that,  my  fine  gentleman  ! 
Come,  Minoret,  there  you  sit  gaping  like  a great  idiot  ! You 
are  in  your  own  house,  and  you  allow  this  young  fellow  to 
keep  his  hat  on  in  your  wife’s  presence  ! Now,  young  man, 
to  begin  with,  take  yourself  off.  Every  man’s  house  is  his 

U 


220 


UR  SUL  E MIROUET. 


castle.  I do  not  know  what  you  are  at  with  all  your  rhodo- 
montade,  but  just  turn  on  your  heel ; and  if  you  lay  a finger 
on  Desire,  you  will  have  me  to  settle  with — you  and  your 
precious  slut,  Ursule.” 

She  rang  violently,  and  called  the  servants. 

“ Remember  what  I have  said,”  repeated  Savinien,  who, 
heedless  of  Zelie’s  diatribe,  went  away,  leaving  this  sword  of 
Damocles  suspended  over  their  heads. 

“ Now,  Minoret,  will  you  tell  me  the  meaning  of  all  this?  ” 
said  Zelie  to  her  husband.  “A  young  man  does  not  come 
into  a decent  house  and  kick  up  all  this  tremendous  dust  for 
nothing,  and  insist  on  the  blood  of  an  only  son  and  heir.” 

“It  is  some  trick  of  that  nasty  ape,  Goupil ; I had  prom- 
ised to  help  him  to  be  made  notary  if  he  would  get  Le  Rouvre 
on  reasonable  terms.  I gave  him  ten  per  cent.,  twenty  thou- 
sand francs,  in  bills  of  exchange,  and  I suppose  he  is  not  sat- 
isfied.” 

“ Yes ; but  what  previous  reason  can  he  have  had  to  get  up 
serenades  and  rascalities  to  trouble  Ursule?” 

“ He  wanted  to  marry  her.” 

“ A girl  without  a sou  ? He  ? Fiddlesticks  ! Look  here, 
Minoret,  you  are  cramming  me  with  nonsense,  and  you  are 
by  nature  too  stupid  to  make  it  take,  my  man.  There  is  some- 
thing behind  it  all,  and  you  must  tell  it  me.” 

“ There  is  nothing.” 

“ There  is  nothing  ? Well,  I tell  you  that  is  a lie,  and  we 
shall  see.” 

“Will  you  leave  me  in  peace?” 

“ I will  turn  on  the  tap  of  that  barrel  of  poison,  Goupil, 
whom  you  know,  I think ; and  you  will  not  get  the  best  of 
the  bargain  then.” 

“ As  you  please.” 

“ Certainly,  it  will  be  as  I please  ! And  what  I please,  first 
and  foremost,  is  that  no  one  shall  lay  a finger  on  Desire ; 
if  anything  happens  to  him — there,  I tell  you,  I should  do 


THE  MI  NO  RET  PROPERTY. 


221 


something  that  would  take  me  to  the  block.  Desire  ! Why  ! 
And  there  you  sit  without  stirring  ! ” 

A quarrel  thus  begun  between  Minoret  and  his  wife  was  not 
likely  to  end  without  long  domestic  broils.  The  thieving 
fool  now  found  his  struggle  with  himself  and  Ursule  made 
harder  by  his  blundering,  and  complicated  by  a fresh  and 
terrible  adversary.  Next  day,  when  he  went  out  to  go  to 
Goupil,  hoping  to  silence  him  with  money,  he  read  on  all  the 
walls  : Minoret  is  a thief ! Every  one  he  met  pitied  him,  and 
asked  him  who  was  at  the  bottom  of  this  anonymous  placard- 
ing, and  every  one  overlooked  the  evasiveness  of  his  replies 
by  ascribing  it  to  his  stupidity.  Simpletons  gain  more  ad- 
vantages from  their  weakness  than  clever  men  get  from  their 
strength.  We  look  on  at  a great  man  struggling  against  fate, 
but  we  raise  a fund  for  a bankrupt  grocer.  Do  you  know 
why?  We  feel  superior  when  we  protect  an  idiot,  and  are 
aggrieved  at  being  no  more  than  equal  to  the  man  of  genius. 
A clever  man  would  have  been  ruined  if,  like  Minoret,  he  had 
stammered  out  preposterous  replies  with  a scared  look.  Zelie 
and  the  servants  effaced  the  libelous  inscription  wherever 
they  saw  it ; but  it  weighed  on  Minoret’s  conscience. 

Though  Goupil  had,  only  the  day  before,  given  the  sum- 
monsing officer  his  word,  he  most  audaciously  refused  now  to 
sign  the  agreement. 

“ My  dear  Lecoeur,  you  see  I am  in  a position  to  buy 
Dionis’  practice,  and  I can  help  you  to  sell  yours  to  some  one 
else.  Put  your  agreement  in  your  pocket  again.  It  is  the 
loss  only  of  a couple  of  stamps.  Here  are  seventy  centimes/’ 

Lecoeur  was  too  much  afraid  of  Goupil  to  make  any  com- 
plaints. All  Nemours  was  forthwith  informed  that  Minoret 
had  offered  his  guarantee  to  Dionis  to  enable  Goupil  to  pur- 
chase his  place.  The  budding  notary  wrote  to  Savinien  re- 
tracting all  his  confession  regarding  Minoret,  and  explaining 
to  the  young  nobleman  that  his  new  position,  the  decisions  of 
the  supreme  court,  and  his  respect  for  justice  forbade  his 


222 


URSULE  MIR  0 UE  71 


fighting  a duel.  At  the  same  time,  he  warned  him  to  talce 
care  henceforth  how  he  behaved,  as  he — Goupil — was  prac- 
ticed in  kicking,  and  at  the  first  provocation  would  have  the 
pleasure  of  breaking  his  leg. 

The  walls  of  Nemours  spoke  no  more.  But  the  quarrel 
between  Minoret  and  his  wife  continued,  and  Savinien  kept 
angry  silence.  Within  ten  days  of  these  events  the  marriage 
of  the  elder  Mademoiselle  Massin  to  the  future  notary  was 
publicly  rumored.  Mademoiselle  Massin  had  eighty  thou- 
sand francs  and  her  ugly  face ; Goupil,  his  misshapen  body 
and  his  appointment ; so  the  union  seemed  suitable  and  prob- 
able. 

At  midnight,  as  Goupil  was  quitting  the  Massins’  house,  he 
was  seized  in  the  street  by  two  strangers,  who  thrashed  him 
soundly  and  disappeared.  Goupil  never  breathed  a word 
about  this  nocturnal  scene,  and  gave  the  lie  to  an  old  woman 
who,  looking  out  of  her  window,  fancied  she  had  recognized 
him. 

All  these  great  little  events  were  watched  by  the  justice, 
who  clearly  saw  that  Goupil  had  some  mysterious  power  over 
Minoret,  and  promised  himself  that  he  would  find  out  the 
reason  of  it. 

Though  public  opinion  in  the  little  town  acknowledged 
Ursule’s  perfect  innocence,  she  recovered  but  slowly.  In  this 
state  of  physical  prostration,  which  left  her  soul  and  mind 
free,  she  became  the  passive  medium  of  certain  phenomena  of 
which  the  effects  indeed  were  terrible,  and  of  a nature  to 
attract  the  attention  of  science,  if  science  had  only  been 
taken  into  the  secret.  Ten  days  after  Madame  de  Porten- 
duere’s  visit,  Ursule  had  a dream  which  presented  the  charac- 
teristics of  a supernatural  vision,  as  much  in  its  moral  facts 
as  in  its  physical  conditions,  so  to  speak. 

Her  godfather,  old  Doctor  Minoret,  appeared  to  her,  and 
signed  to  her  to  follow  him ; she  dressed  and  went  with  him, 


THE  MINORET  PROPERTY. 


223 


through  the  darkness,  as  far  as  the  house  in  the  Rue  des  Bour- 
geois, where  she  found  everything,  to  the  most  trivial  details, 
just  as  they  had  been  at  the  time  of  her  godfather’s  death. 
The  old  man  wore  the  clothes  he  had  had  on  the  day  before 
he  died;  his  face  was  pale,  not  a sound  was  heard  as  he 
moved  ; nevertheless,  Ursule  distinctly  heard  his  voice,  though 
it  was  faint,  as  if  repeated  by  a distant  echo.  The  doctor 
led  his  ward  into  the  Chinese  pavilion,  where  he  made  her 
raise  the  marble  top  of  the  little  Boule  chiffonier,  as  she  had 
done  the  day  of  his  death;  but  instead  of  finding  nothing 
there,  she  saw  the  letter  her  godfather  had  desired  her  to  fetch. 
She  unsealed  it  and  read  it,  as  well  as  the  will  in  Savinien’s 
favor. 

“ The  letters  of  the  writing,”  she  said  to  the  cure,  “ shone 
as  though  they  had  been  traced  with  sunbeams ; they  scorched 
my  eyes.” 

When  she  looked  up  at  her  uncle  to  thank  him,  she  saw  a 
kindly  smile  on  his  pale  lips.  Then,  in  his  weak  but  quite 
clear  voice,  the  spectre  showed  her  Minoret  in  the  passage 
listening  to  his  secret,  unscrewing  the  lock,  and  taking  the 
packet  of  papers.  Then,  with  his  right  hand,  he  took  hold 
of  the  girl  and  obliged  her  to  walk  with  the  tread  of  the  dead 
to  follow  Minoret  home  to  his  house.  Ursule  crossed  the 
town,  went  into  the  posting-house,  and  up  to  Zelie’s  room, 
where  the  spectre  made  her  see  the  spoiler  unsealing  the 
letters,  reading  and  burning  them. 

“ He  could  only  make  the  third  match  burn,”  said  Ursule, 
“ to  set  light  to  the  papers,  and  he  buried  the  ashes  among 
the  cinders.  After  that,  my  godfather  took  me  back  to  our 
house,  and  I saw  Monsieur  Minoret-Levrault  steal  into  the 
library,  where  he  took  out  of  the  third  volume  of  the  ‘Pandects’ 
the  three  bonds  bearing  twelve  thousand  francs  a year,  as  well 
as  the  money  saved  in  the  house,  all  in  bank-notes.  Then 
my  guardian  said  to  me:  ‘All  the  torments  that  have  brought 
you  to  the  brink  of  the  grave  are  his  work,  but  God  wills  that 


224 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


you  shall  be  happy.  You  will  not  die  yet;  you  will  marry 
Savinien.  If  you  love  me,  if  you  love  Savinien,  you  will  ask 
for  the  restoration  of  your  fortune  by  my  nephew.  Swear 
that  you  will.’  ” 

Shining  like  the  Lord  at  His  Transfiguration,  the  spectre 
had  had  such  a violent  effect  on  Ursule’s  mind,  in  the 
oppressed  state  in  which  she  was  at  the  time,  that  she  prom- 
ised all  her  uncle  asked  her  to  be  rid  of  the  nightmare.  She 
woke  to  find  herself  standing  in  the  middle  of  her  room,  in 
front  of  the  portrait  of  her  godfather,  which  she  had  had 
brought  there  when  she  was  ill.  She  went  to  bed  again,  and 
to  sleep  after  great  excitement,  remembering  this  strange 
vision  when  she  woke ; but  she  dared  not  speak  of  it.  Her 
refined  good  sense,  and  her  delicacy  of  feeling,  took  offense 
at  the  thought  of  revealing  a dream  of  which  the  cause  and 
object  were  her  own  pecuniary  interests  ; she  naturally  attrib- 
uted it  to  La  Bougival’s  chat,  as  she  was  going  to  sleep,  of  the 
doctor’s  liberality,  and  the  convictions  her  old  nurse  still 
cherished  on  the  subject. 

But  the  dream  returned  with  aggravated  details,  which  made 
her  dread  it  greatly.  The  second  time  her  godfather  laid  his 
ice-cold  hand  on  her  shoulder,  causing  her  the  acutest  pain, 
an  indescribable  sensation.  “The  dead  must  be  obeyed  ! ” 
he  said  in  sepulchral  tones. 

“And  tears,”  she  added,  “fell  from  his  hollow  blank 
eyes.” 

The  third  time  the  dead  man  took  her  by  her  long  plaits 
of  hair,  and  showed  her  Minoret  talking  with  Goupil,  and 
promising  him  money  if  he  would  take  Ursule  to  Sens.  Then 
she  made  up  her  mind  to  tell  her  three  dreams  to  the  Abbe 
Chaperon. 

“Monsieur  le  Cure,”  she  said  to  him  one  evening,  “do 
you  believe  that  the  dead  can  walk  ? ” 

“ My  child,  sacred  history,  profane  history,  modern  history 
bear  witness  in  many  passages  to  their  appearing.  Still,  the 


THE  MINORET  PROPERTY. 


225 


church  has  never  made  it  an  article  of  faith ; and  as  to 
science,  in  France  it  laughs  it  to  scorn.” 

“ What  do  you  believe  ? ” 

“ The  power  of  God,  my  child,  is  infinite.” 

“ Did  my  godfather  ever  speak  to  you  of  these  things?” 

“ Yes ; often.  He  had  completely  changed  his  views  of 
such  matters.  His  conversion  dated  from  the  day,  as  he  told 
me  twenty  times,  when  a woman  at  Paris  heard  you,  at  Ne- 
mours, praying  for  him,  and  saw  the  red  dot  you  had  made 
on  the  calendar  at  the  name  of  Saint  Savinien.” 

Ursule  gave  a scream  that  made  the  priest  shudder ; she 
remembered  the  scene  when,  on  his  return  from  Paris,  her 
guardian  had  read  her  heart,  and  had  taken  away  her  calendar. 

‘ ‘ If  that  is  the  case,”  said  she,  “my  visions  are  possible. 
My  godfather  has  appeared  to  me  as  Jesus  appeared  to  His 
disciples.  He  stands  in  a golden  light,  and  he  speaks  to  me. 
I wanted  to  beg  you  to  say  a mass  for  the  repose  of  his  soul, 
and  to  beseech  the  interposition  of  God  to  stop  these  appari- 
tions which  overwhelm  me.” 

She  then  related  her  three  dreams  in  every  detail,  insisting 
on  the  absolute  truthfulness  of  the  facts,  the  freedom  of  her 
own  movements,  and  the  clear  vision  of  an  inner  self  which, 
as  she  described  it,  followed  the  guidance  of  her  uncle’s 
spectre  with  perfect  ease.  What  most  surprised  the  priest,  to 
whom  Ursule’s  perfect  veracity  was  well  known,  was  her  exact 
description  of  the  room  formerly  occupied  by  Zelie  Minoret  at 
the  posting-house,  into  which  Ursule  had  never  been,  and 
which,  indeed,  she  had  never  even  heard  mentioned. 

“ By  what  means  can  these  strange  apparitions  be  pro- 
duced? ” said  Ursule.  “ What  did  my  godfather  think  ? ” 

“Your  godfather,  my  child,  argued  from  hypotheses.  He 
acknowledged  the  possible  existence  of  a spiritual  world,  a 
world  of  ideas.  If  ideas  are  a creation  proper  to  man,  if  they 
subsist  and  live  a life  peculiar  to  themselves,  they  must  have 
forms  imperceptible  to  our  external  senses,  but  perceptible  to 
15 


226 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


our  interior  senses  under  certain  conditions.  Thus  your  god- 
father’s ideas  may  enwrap  you,  and  you  perhaps  have  lent 
them  his  aspect.  Then,  if  Minoret  has  committed  these  ac- 
tions, they  are  dissolved  into  ideas ; for  every  action  Is  the 
outcome  of  several  ideas.  Now,  if  ideas  have  their  being  in 
the  spiritual  world,  your  spirit  may  have  been  enabled  to  see 
them  when  transported  thither.  These  phenomena  are  not 
more  strange  than  those  of  memory ; and  those  of  memory 
are  as  surprising  and  as  inexplicable  as  those  of  the  perfume 
of  plants,  which  are  perhaps  the  plants’  ideas.” 

“ Dear  me  ! how  you  expand  the  world  ! But  is  it  really 
possible  to  hear  a dead  man  speak,  to  see  him  walk  and  act  ?” 

“Swedenborg,  in  Sweden,”  replied  the  abbe,  “has  proved 
to  demonstration  that  he  held  intercourse  with  the  dead. 
But,  at  any  rate,  come  into  the  library,  and  in  the  life  of  the 
famous  Due  de  Montmorency,  who  was  beheaded  at  Toulouse, 
and  who  certainly  was  not  the  man  to  invent  a cock-and-bull 
story,  you  will  read  of  an  adventure  almost  like  your  own, 
which  also  occurred,  above  a hundred  years  before,  to 
Cardan.” 

Ursule  and  the  cure  went  up  to  the  second  floor,  and  the  good 
man  found  for  her  a little  duodecimo  edition,  printed  in  Paris 
in  1666,  of  the  “ History  of  Henri  de  Montmorency,”  written 
by  a contemporary  priest  who  had  known  that  prince. 

“Read,”  said  the  cure,  giving  her  the  volume  open  at 
pages  175  and  176.  “ Your  godfather  often  read  this  passage; 
see,  here  are  some  grains  of  his  snuff.” 

“And  he  is  no  more  !”  said  Ursule,  taking  the  book  to 
read  this  passage : 

“ The  siege  of  Privas  was  remarkable  for  the  loss  of  some 
of  the  persons  in  command.  Two  colonels  were  killed,  to 
wit : the  Marquis  d’Uxelles,  who  died  of  a wound  received  in 
the  trenches,  and  the  Marquis  de  Portes,  by  a gunshot  in  the 
head.  He  was  to  have  been  made  a marshal  of  France  the 
very  day  he  was  killed.  Just  about  the  moment  when  the 


THE  MI  NO  RET  PROPERTY. 


227 


Marquis  died,  the  Due  de  Montmorency,  who  was  sleeping  in 
his  tent,  was  roused  by  a voice  like  that  of  the  Marquis,  bid- 
ding him  farewell.  The  love  he  had  for  one  who  was  so  dear 
to  him  caused  him  to  attribute  the  illusion  of  this  dream  to 
the  power  of  his  imagination  ; and  the  toil  of  the  night,  which 
he  had  spent  as  usual  in  the  trenches,  made  him  go  to  sleep 
again  without  any  fear.  But  the  same  voice  suddenly  broke 
it  again;  and  the  phantom,  which  he  had  only  seen  in  his 
sleep,  compelled  him  to  wake  once  more,  and  to  hear  dis- 
tinctly the  same  words  that  it  had  spoken  before  disappearing. 
The  Due  then  recollected  that  one  day  when  they  had  heard 
Pitrat  the  philosopher  discoursing  of  the  separation  of  the  soul 
from  the  body,  they  had  promised  to  bid  each  other  farewell, 
whichever  died  first,  if  he  were  permitted.  Whereupon,  un- 
able to  hinder  his  dread  of  the  truth  of  this  warning,  he  at 
once  sent  one  of  his  servants  to  the  Marquis’  lodgings,  which 
were  distant  from  his  own.  But  before  his  man  could  return 
he  was  sent  for  by  the  King,  who  caused  him  to  be  told,  by 
persons  who  could  comfort  him,  of  the  misfortune  he  had 
already  apprehended. 

“ I leave  it  to  the  learned  to  discuss  the  cause  of  this  event, 
which  I have  often  heard  the  Due  de  Montmorency  relate, 
and  which  I have  thought  worthy  to  be  set  down  for  its  mar- 
velousness and  its  truth.” 

“But,  then,”  asked  Ursule,  “what  ought  I to  do?” 

“ My  child,”  said  the  cure,  “ the  case  is  so  serious,  and  so 
much  to  your  own  advantage,  that  you  must  keep  complete 
silence.  Now  that  you  have  trusted  me  with  the  secret  of 
this  apparition,  perhaps  it  will  come  no  more.  Besides,  you 
are  strong  enough  now  to  go  to  church  ; well,  then,  to-mor- 
row you  can  come  to  thank  God,  and  to  pray  for  the  peace 
of  your  godfather’s  soul.  Be  quite  sure,  at  any  rate,  that 
your  secret  is  in  safe  hands.” 

“ If  you  could  know  in  what  terror  I go  to  sleep  ! What 
«*wful  looks  my  godfather  gives  me  ! The  last  time  he  held 


228 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


on  to  ray  dress  to  see  me  longer.  I woke  with  my  face 
streaming  with  tears.” 

“ Rest  in  peace  ; he  will  come  no  more,”  said  the  cure. 

Without  losing  any  time  the  Abbe  Chaperon  went  to  Min- 
oret’s  house  and  begged  him  to  grant  him  a minute’s  conver- 
sation in  the  Chinese  pavilion,  insisting  that  they  must  be 
alone. 

“ No  one  can  hear  us  ? ” asked  the  priest. 

“No  one,”  said  Minoret. 

“ Monsieur,  my  character  is  known  to  you,”  said  the  worthy 
priest,  looking  Minoret  mildly  but  steadfastly  in  the  face.  “I 
must  speak  to  you  of  some  serious,  extraordinary  matters, 
which  concern  you  alone,  and  which  you  may  rely  on  me  to 
keep  a profound  secret ; but  it  is  impossible  that  I should  not 
reveal  them  to  you.  When  your  uncle  was  alive,  there  stood 

just  there ” said  the  abbe,  pointing  to  the  spot,  “a  little 

chiffonier  of  Boule  with  a marble  top  ” (Minoret  turned  pale), 
“ and  under  the  marble  slab  your  uncle  placed  a letter  for  his 
ward ” 

The  cure  went  on  to  tell  Minoret  the  whole  story  of  Min- 
oret’s  conduct,  without  omitting  the  smallest  detail.  The 
retired  postmaster,  when  he  heard  of  the  circumstance  of  the 
two  matches  that  went  out  before  burning  up,  felt  his  hair 
creep  on  his  thick-set  scalp. 

“Who  has  invented  such  a cock-and-bull  story?”  he  said 
in  a husky  voice,  when  the  tale  was  finished. 

“The  dead  man  himself!  ” 

This  reply  made  Minoret  shiver  slightly,  for  he  too  saw  the 
doctor  in  his  dreams. 

“ God  is  most  good  to  work  miracles  for  me,  Monsieur  le 
Cure,”  said  Minoret,  inspired  by  his  peril  to  utter  the  only 
jest  he  ever  perpetrated  in  his  life. 

“All  that  God  does  is  natural,”  replied  the  priest. 

“Your  phantasmagoria  does  not  frighten  me,”  said  the 
colossus,  recovering  his  presence  of  mind  a little. 


THE  MIN O RET  PROPERTY. 


229 


“ I have  not  come  to  frighten  you,  my  dear  sir,  for  I shall 
never  speak  of  this  to  any  living  creature,”  said  the  cur6. 
“ You  alone  know  the  truth.  It  is  a matter  between  you  and 
God.” 

“ Come,  now,  Monsieur  le  Cure,  do  you  believe  me  capa- 
ble of  such  a breach  of  faith  ? ” 

“I  believe  in  no  crimes  but  those  which  are  confessed  to 
me,  and  of  which  the  sinner  repents,”  said  the  priest  in  apos- 
tolic tones. 

“ A crime  ? ” exclaimed  Minoret. 

“ A crime,  terrible  in  its  results.” 

“ In  what  way  ? ” 

“In  the  fact  that  it  evades  human  justice.  The  crimes 
which  are  not  expiated  here  will  be  expiated  in  the  other 
world.  God  Himself  avenges  the  innocent.” 

“ You  think  that  God  troubles  Himself  about  such  mere 
trifles?  ” 

“ If  He  could  not  see  all  the  worlds  and  every  detail  at  a 
glance,  as  you  hold  a landscape  in  your  eye,  He  would  not  be 
God.” 

“ Monsieur  le  Cure,  do  you  give  me  your  word  of  honor 
that  you  have  heard  all  this  story  from  no  one  but  my 
uncle?  ” 

“Your  uncle  has  now  appeared  three  times  to  Ursule,  to 
reiterate  it.  Worn  out  by  these  dreams,  she  confided  these 
revelations  to  me,  under  the  seal  of  secrecy ; she  herself 
regards  them  as  so  entirely  irrational  that  she  will  never  allude 
to  them.  So  on  that  point  you  may  be  quite  easy.” 

“ But  I am  quite  easy  on  all  points,  Monsieur  Chaperon.” 

“I  can  but  hope  so,”  said  the  old  priest.  “Even  if  I 
should  regard  such  warnings  given  in  dreams  as  utterly 
absurd,  I should  still  think  it  necessary  to  communicate  them 
to  you  on  account  of  the  singularity  of  the  details.  You  are 
a respectable  man  ; and  you  have  earned  your  fine  fortune  too 
legitimately  to  wish  to  add  to  it  by  robbery.  You  are.  too,  a 


230 


UR  SUL  E MIROUET. 


very  simple  man ; remorse  would  torture  you  too  cruelly. 
We  have  in  ourselves  an  instinct  of  justice,  in  the  civilized 
man  as  in  the  savage,  which  does  not  allow  of  our  enjoying 
in  peace  anything  we  have  acquired  dishonestly  according  to 
the  laws  of  the  society  we  live  in  ; for  well-organizad  com- 
munities are  modeled  on  the  plan  given  to  the  universe  by 
God  Himself.  In  so  far,  society  has  a divine  origin.  Man 
does  not  evolve  ideas,  does  not  invent  forms ; he  imitates  the 
eternal  relations  he  finds  in  all  that  surrounds  him.  Conse- 
quently, this  is  what  happens : no  criminal  going  to  the 
scaffold  with  the  full  power  of  carrying  out  of  the  world  the 
secret  of  his  crimes,  allows  himself  to  be  executed  without 
making  the  confession  to  which  he  is  urged  by  a mysterious 
impulse.  So,  my  dear  Monsieur  Minoret,  if  you  are  easy  I 
may  go  away  happy.” 

Minoret  was  so  dazed  that  he  left  the  cure  to  let  himself 
out.  As  soon  as  he  was  alone  he  flew  into  the  rage  of  a full- 
blooded  nature ; he  broke  out  in  the  wildest  blasphemies,  and 
called  Ursule  by  every  odious  name. 

“Why,  what  has  that  little  wench  done  to  you?”  asked 
Madame  Minoret,  who  had  come  in  on  tiptoe  after  seeing  the 
cure  depart. 

For  the  first  and  only  time  in  his  life,  Minoret,  drunk  with 
fury  and  driven  to  extremities  by  his  wife’s  persistent  ques- 
tioning, beat  her  so  soundly  that  when  she  fell  helpless  he 
was  obliged  to  lift  her  in  his  arms,  and,  very  much  ashamed 
of  himself,  to  put  her  to  bed. 

He  himself  had  a short  fit  of  illness ; the  doctor  was 
obliged  to  bleed  him  twice.  When  he  was  about  again, 
every  one,  within  a short  time,  noticed  that  he  was  altered. 
Minoret  would  take  walks  alone,  and  often  wander  about  the 
streets  like  a man  uneasy  in  his  mind.  He  seemed  absent- 
minded  when  spoken  to — he,  who  had  never  had  two  ideas 
in  his  head.  At  last,  one  day,  he  addressed  the  justice,  in 
the  High  Street,  as  he  was  going,  no  doubt,  to  fetch  Ursule 


THE  MIN 0 RET  PROPERTY. 


231 


to  take  her  to  Madame  de  Portenduere’s,  where  the  whist 
parties  had  begun  again. 

“ Monsieur  Bongrand,  I have  something  rather  important 
to  say  to  my  cousin  Ursule,”  said  he,  taking  the  justice  by 
the  arm,  “and  I am  glad  that  you  should  be  present;  you 
may  give  her  some  advice.” 

They  found  Ursule  at  the  piano ; she  rose  with  an  air  of 
cold  dignity  when  she  saw  Minoret. 

“ Monsieur  Minoret  wishes  to  speak  with  you  on  business, 
my  dear,”  said  the  justice.  “By  the  way,  do  not  forget  to 
give  me  your  dividend  warrants.  I am  going  to  Paris,  and  I 
will  get  your  six  months’  interest,  and  La  Bougival’s.” 

“Cousin,”  said  Minoret,  “ our  uncle  had  accustomed  you 
to  an  easier  life  than  you  now  enjoy.” 

“It  is  possible  to  be  very  happy  without  much  money,” 
said  she. 

“ I have  been  thinking  that  money  would  help  to  make  you 
happy,”  replied  Minoret,  “ and  I came  to  offer  you  some,  out 
of  respect  for  my  uncle’s  memory.” 

“ You  had  a very  natural  course  open  to  show  your  respect  for 
him,”  said  Ursule  severely.  “You  might  have  left  his  house 
just  as  it  was,  and  have  sold  it  to  me,  for  you  ran  the  price 
up  so  high  only  in  the  hope  of  finding  treasure  hoarded 
there ” 

“At  any  rate,”  said  Minoret,  evidently  ill  at  ease,  “ if  you 
had  twelve  thousand  francs  a year,  you  would  be  in  a position 
to  marry  the  better.” 

“ I have  not  such  an  income.” 

“ But  if  I were  to  give  it  to  you,  on  condition  of  your  pur- 
chasing an  estate  in  Brittany,  in  Madame  de  Portenduere’s 
part  of  the  country,  she  would  then  consent  to  your  marrying 
her  son  ? ” 

“ Monsieur  Minoret,  I have  no  right  to  so  large  a sum,  and 
could  not  possibly  accept  it  from  you.  We  are  scarcely 
related,  and  still  less  are  we  friends.  I have  suffered  too 


232 


UR  SUL  E MIROUET. 


much  already  from  slander  to  wish  to  give  any  cause  for  evil 
speaking.  What  have  I done  to  deserve  such  a gift?  On 
what  pretext  could  you  make  me  such  a present?  These 
questions,  which  I have  a right  to  ask  you,  every  one  will 
answer  in  his  own  way.  It  will  be  interpreted  as  compensa- 
tion for  some  injury,  and  I decline  to  recognize  any.  Your 
uncle  did  not  bring  me  up  in  ignoble  sentiments.  We  can 
accept  gifts  only  from  a friend.  I could  not  feel  any  affec- 
tion for  you,  and  should  necessarily  prove  ungrateful,  so  I do 
not  choose  to  run  the  risk  of  such  ingratitude.” 

“You  refuse!  ” exclaimed  the  colossus;  the  idea  of  any- 
body refusing  a fortune  would  never  have  entered  his  head. 

“ I refuse,”  repeated  Ursule. 

“But  on  what  grounds  have  you  any  claim  to  offer  such  a 
fortune  to  mademoiselle?”  asked  the  old  lawyer.  “You 
have  an  idea ; have  you  an  idea?  ” 

“ Well,  yes ; the  idea  of  getting  her  away  from  Nemours, 
that  my  son  may  leave  me  in  peace ; he  is  in  love  with  her, 
and  insists  on  marrying  her.” 

“ Well,  we  will  see  about  that,”  replied  the  justice,  settling 
his  spectacles.  “ Give  us  time  to  reflect.” 

He  escorted  Minoret  home,  quite  approving  his  anxiety  as 
to  tne  future  on  Desire’s  account,  gently  blaming  Ursule’s 
hasty  decisiveness,  and  promising  to  make  her  listen  to  reason. 
As  soon  as  Minoret  was  within  doors,  Bongrand  went  to  the 
posting  stables,  borrowed  a horse  and  gig,  and  hurried  off  to 
Fontainebleau,  where  he  inquired  for  Desire,  and  was  in- 
formed that  he  was  at  an  evening  party  at  the  sous-prefet’s. 
The  justice,  quite  delighted,  went  on  thither.  Desire  was 
playing  a rubber  with  the  public  prosecutor’s  wife,  the  wife  of 
the  sous-pr6fet,  and  the  colonel  of  the  regiment  stationed 
there. 

“I  have  come  the  bearer  of  good  news,”  said  Monsieur 
Bongrand  to  Desire.  “ You  are  in  love  with  Ursule  Mirouet, 
and  your  father  no  longer  objects  to  the  marriage.” 


THE  MI  NO  RET  PROPERTY. 


233 


“ Ursule  Mirouet ! I am  in  love  with  her?  ” cried  Desire, 
laughing.  “What  put  Ursule  Mirouet  into  your  head?  I 
remember  seeing  her  occasionally  at  old  Doctor  Minoret’s, 
my  great  grand-uncle,  a little  girl  who  is  certainly  lovely  ; but 
she  is  outrageously  pious ; and  if  I,  like  everybody  else,  did 
justice  to  her  charms,  I never  troubled  my  head  with  caring 
for  her  washed-out  complexion,”  and  he  smiled  at  the  lady  of 
the  house — a “sprightly  brunette,”  to  use  a last-century 
phrase.  “Where  were  you  dug  up,  my  dear  Monsieur  Bon- 
grand  ? All  the  world  knows  that  my  father  is  sovereign  lord 
over  lands  worth  forty-eight  thousand  francs  a year,  lying 
round  his  Chateau  du  Rouvre,  so  all  the  world  knows  that  I 
have  forty-eight  thousand  perpetual  and  funded  reasons  for 
not  caring  for  the  ward  of  the  law.  If  I were  to  marry  a 
mere  nobody,  these  ladies  would  think  me  a great  fool.” 

“ You  have  never  teased  your  father  about  Ursule  ? ” 

“Never.” 

“You  hear  him,  monsieur,”  said  the  justice  to  the  lawyer, 
who  had  been  listening,  and  whom  he  now  buttonholed  in  a 
corner,  where  they  stood  talking  for  about  a quarter  of  an 
hour. 

An  hour  later  the  justice,  having  returned  to  Nemours  and 
to  Ursule’s  house,  sent  La  Bougival  to  fetch  Minoret,  who 
came  at  once. 

“Mademoiselle ” said  Bongrand,  as  Minoret  came  in. 

“ Accepts?  ” Minoret  put  in,  interrupting  him. 

“ No,  not  yet,”  replied  the  justice,  settling  his  spectacles. 
“ She  had  some  scruples  regarding  your  son’s  condition,  for 
she  had  been  very  much  ill-used  on  the  score  of  a similar 
passion,  and  knows  the  value  of  peace  and  quiet.  Can  you 
swear  to  her  that  your  son  is  crazed  with  love,  and  that  you 
have  no  object  in  view  but  that  of  preserving  our  dear  Ursule 
from  some  fresh  Goupilleries?  ” 

“ Oh  yes,  I swear  it!  ” said  Minoret. 

“ Stop  a minute,  Master  Minoret ! ” said  the  justice,  taking 


234 


UR  SUL  E MIROUET. 


one  of  his  hands  out  of  his  trousers-pocket  to  slap  Minoret  on 
the  back,  making  him  start.  “ Do  not  so  lightly  commit 
perjury.” 

“ Perjury  ! ” 

“ It  lies  between  you  and  your  son,  who,  at  Fontainebleau, 
at  the  sub-prefect’s  house,  and  in  the  presence  of  four  persons 
and  the  public  prosecutor  of  the  district,  has  just  sworn  that 
he  never  once  thought  of  his  cousin  Ursule  Mirouet.  You 
must  therefore  have  had  other  reasons  for  offering  her  such  an 
immense  sum  ? I perceived  that  you  were  making  very  rash 
statements,  and  I have  been  to  Fontainebleau  myself.” 

Minoret  stood  aghast  at  his  own  blunder. 

“ Still,  there  is  no  harm,  Monsieur  Bongrand,  in  offering 
to  a young  relative  what  will  facilitate  a marriage,  which,  as 
it  would  seem,  will  make  her  happy,  and  in  seeking  some 
excuse  to  overcome  her  modesty.” 

Minoret,  who  in  his  extremity  had  hit  on  an  almost  admis- 
sible plea,  wiped  his  brow,  wet  with  large  drops  of  sweat. 

“ You  know  my  motives  for  refusing,”  replied  Ursule.  “ I 
can  but  beg  you  to  come  here  no  more.  Monsieur  de  Por- 
tenduere  has  not  told  me  his  reasons,  but  he  has  a feeling  of 
contempt,  even  of  hatred,  of  you,  which  forbids  me  to  receive 
you.  My  happiness  is  my  whole  fortune  ; I do  not  blush  to 
own  it ; and  I will  do  nothing  to  compromise  it,  for  Monsieur 
de  Portendudre  is  waiting  only  till  I am  of  age  to  marry  me.” 

“ The  proverb,  ‘ Money  is  all-powerful,’  is  very  false!” 
said  the  huge,  burly  Minoret,  looking  at  the  justice,  whose 
observant  eyes  disturbed  him  greatly. 

He  rose  and  went  away ; but  he  found  the  air  outside  as 
oppressive  as  that  in  the  little  sitting-room. 

“ I must  somehow  put  an  end  to  this  ! ” said  he  to  himself 
as  he  got  home. 

“ Now,  your  dividend  warrant,  my  child,”  said  the  justice, 
a good  deal  surprised  at  Ursule’s  calmness  after  so  strange  a 
scene. 


THE  MIN O RET  PROPERTY. 


235 


When  she  returned  with  her  own  warrant  and  La  Bougival’s, 
Ursule  found  the  justice  walking  up  and  down  the  room. 

“You  have  no  idea  what  could  have  led  to  that  huge  lout’s 
offer?”  he  asked  her. 

“None  that  I can  tell  you,”  she  replied. 

Monsieur  Bongrand  looked  at  her  in  surprise — 

“ Then  we  both  have  the  same  notion,”  he  said.  “ Here, 
make  a note  of  the  numbers  of  the  two  warrants,  in  case  I 
should  lose  them;  that  is  always  a necessary  precaution.” 
Bongrand  himself  noted  on  a card  the  numbers  of  the  war- 
rants. 

“ Good-by,  my  child ; I shall  be  away  two  days,  but  I 
shall  be  back  on  the  third  for  my  sitting.” 

That  night  Ursule  had  a vision  of  a very  strange  character. 
It  seemed  to  her  that  her  bed  was  in  the  graveyard  of  Ne- 
mours, and  that  her  uncle’s  grave  was  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 
The  white  stone  on  which  she  read  the  epitaph  dazzled  her 
eyes,  and  opened  endways  like  the  front  cover  of  an  album. 
She  shrieked  loudly,  but  the  figure  of  the  doctor  slowly  sat 
up.  She  first  saw  his  yellow  head  and  white  hair,  that  shone 
as  if  surrounded  by  a halo.  Under  his  bald  forehead  his  eyes 
glittered  like  beams  of  light,  and  he  rose  as  if  drawn  up  by 
some  superior  force.  Ursule  trembled  horribly  in  her  bodily 
frame ; her  flesh  felt  like  a burning  garment ; and,  as  she  sub- 
sequently described  it,  there  seemed  to  be  another  self  mov- 
ing within  it. 

“ Mercy,  godfather  ! ” she  cried. 

“ Mercy?  It  is  too  late,”  he  answered  in  the  voice  of  the 
dead,  to  use  the  poor  girl’s  inexplicable  expression  when  she 
related  this  fresh  dream  to  the  Abbe  Chaperon.  “ He  has 
been  warned.  He  has  paid  no  heed  to  the  warning.  His 
son’s  days  are  numbered.  If  he  does  not  ere  long  confess 
all  and  make  full  restitution,  he  will  mourn  his  son,  who  is  to 
perish  by  a horrible  and  violent  death.  Tell  him  this ! ” The 


236 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


spectre  pointed  to  a row  of  figures,  which  flashed  on  the  wall 
as  if  they  had  been  written  with  fire,  and  said  : “ That  is  his 
sentence  ! ” 

When  her  uncle  had  lain  down  in  the  grave  again,  Ursule 
heard  the  noise  of  the  stone  falling  into  place,  and  then,  far 
away,  a strange  noise  as  of  tramping  horses,  and  men  loudly 
shouting. 

Next  day  Ursule  was  prostrate.  She  could  not  get  up,  this 
dream  had  so  overwrought  her.  She  begged  her  old  nurse  to 
go  at  once  to  the  Abbe  Chaperon  and  bring  him  back  with 
her.  The  good  man  came  as  soon  as  he  had  performed  mass ; 
but  he  was  not  at  all  astonished  by  Ursule’s  dream.  He  was 
convinced  of  the  fact  of  the  robbery,  and  no  longer  sought  any 
explanation  of  the  abnormal  state  of  his  “little  dreamer.” 
He  left  Ursule,  and  went  straight  to  Minoret. 

“Dear  me,  Monsieur  le  Cure,”  said  Zelie,  “my  husband’s 
temper  is  so  spoilt,  I don’t  know  what  is  the  matter  with  him. 
Until  lately,  he  was  a perfect  child  ; but  these  two  months 
past  I hardly  know  him.  That  he  should  have  gotten  into  such 
a rage  as  to  strike  me — me,  when  I am  so  gentle  ! The  man 
must  be  completely  and  utterly  altered.  You  will  find  him 
among  the  rocks ; he  spends  his  life  there.  What  does  he  do 
there?” 

In  spite  of  the  heat — it  was  September,  1836 — the  priest 
crossed  the  canal,  and  turned  up  a pathway,  where  he  saw 
Minoret  sitting  under  a boulder. 

“You  are  in  some  great  trouble,  Monsieur  Minoret,”  said 
the  priest,  appearing  before  the  guilty  man.  “You  belong  to 
me,  you  know,  for  you  are  unhappy.  Unfortunately,  I have 
come  to  add,  perhaps,  to  your  apprehensions.  Ursule  has 
just  had  a terrible  dream.  Your  uncle  lifted  up  his  grave- 
stone to  prophesy  misfortune  to  your  family.  I have  not 
come  to  frighten  you,  believe  me,  but  you  ought  to  be  told 
what  he  said ” 

“ Really,  Monsieur  le  Cure,  I cannot  be  left  in  peace  any- 


rt You  STOLE  THE  THREE  CERTIFICATES ” 


THE  MINORET  PROPERTY. 


237 


where,  not  even  in  this  wilderness.  I want  to  know  nothing 
of  what  goes  on  in  the  next  world,”  dejectedly  replied  the 
miserable  old  man. 

“ I will  leave  you,  monsieur.  I have  not  taken  this  walk 
in  the  heat  for  my  own  pleasure,”  said  the  priest,  wiping  his 

brow. 

“Well,  then,  what  was  it  the  old  fellow  said?”  asked 
Minoret. 

“ You  are  threatened  with  the  loss  of  your  son.  If  your 
uncle  could  tell  things  which  you  alone  knew,  you  must 
tremble  at  the  things  which  we  none  of  us  know.  Restitu- 
tion, my  dear  sir,  restitution  ! Do  not  lose  your  soul  for  a 
little  gold.” 

“Restitution  of  what?” 

“ Of  the  fortune  the  doctor  intended  for  Ursule.  You 
*tole  the  three  certificates ; I now  know  it.  You  began  by 
persecuting  the  poor  girl,  and  you  now  end  by  offering  her  a 
dowry  ; you  have  fallen  so  low  as  lying ; you  are  entangled 
in  its  mazes,  and  make  a false  step  at  every  turn.  You  are 
yourself  clumsy,  and  you  have  been  badly  served  by  your 
accomplice,  Goupil,  who  only  laughs  at  you.  Make  haste,  for 
you  are  being  watched  by  clever  and  clear-sighted  persons, 
Ursule’s  friends.  Restitution  ! And  even  if  you  do  not  save 
your  son,  who  may  not  be  in  any  danger,  you  will  save  your 
own  soul,  and  your  honor.  In  a society  constituted  as  ours 
is,  in  a little  town  where  you  all  have  your  eyes  on  each  other, 
and  where  what  is  not  known  is  surely  guessed,  can  you  hope 
to  hide  an  ill-gotten  fortune  ? Come,  my  son,  an  innocent 
man  would  not  have  allowed  me  to  say  so  much?  ” 

“ Go  to  the  devil ! ” cried  Minoret.  “ I do  not  know  what 
you  are  all  at,  setting  on  me.  I like  these  stones  better,  for 
they  leave  me  in  peace.” 

“ Good-by.  You  have  been  warned  by  me,  my  dear  sir, 
without  a soul  in  the  world  having  heard  a single  word  about 
the  matter,  either  from  me  or  from  that  poor  girl.  But 


238  URSULE  MIROUET. 

beware  ! There  is  a man  who  has  his  eye  on  you.  God  have 
mercy  on  you  ! ” 

The  cure  turned  and  left  him.  When  he  had  gone  a few 
steps,  he  looked  back  once  more  at  Minoret.  He  was  sitting 
with  his  head  between  his  hands,  for  his  head  ached.  Minoret 
was  a little  mad. 

In  the  first  place,  he  had  kept  the  three  certificates ; he  did 
not  know  what  to  do  with  them  ; he  dared  not  present  them 
himself ; he  was  afraid  lest  he  should  be  recognized  ; he  did 
not  wish  to  sell  them,  and  was  trying  to  hit  on  some  way  of 
transferring  them.  His  day  dreams  were  romances  of  busi- 
ness, of  which  the  climax  always  was  the  transfer  of  those 
cursed  certificates.  In  this  dreadful  predicament  he  thought, 
however,  of  confessing  to  his  wife,  so  as  to  have  some  advice. 
Zelie,  who  had  steered  her  own  ship  so  well,  would  know  how 
to  get  him  out  of  this  scrape. 

Three  per  cents,  were  now  quoted  at  eighty  ; thus,  with 
arrears,  the  restitution  in  question  would  amount  to  nearly  a 
million  francs.  Give  up  a million,  without  any  proof  against 
him  that  he  had  taken  them  ! This  was  no  joke.  And  during 
the  whole  of  September  and  part  of  October  Minoret  remained 
a prey  to  remorse  and  irresolution.  To  the  amazement  of  the 
whole  town,  he  grew  thinner. 

A fearful  circumstance  hastened  the  imparting  of  his  secret 
to  Zelie  ; the  sword  of  Damocles  swayed  over  their  heads. 
Towards  the  middle  of  October  Monsieur  and  Madame  Min- 
oret received  the  following  letter  from  their  son  Desire : 

“ My  dear  Mother  : — If  I have  not  been  to  see  you  since 
the  vacation,  it  is  because,  in  the  first  place,  I have  been  on 
duty  in  the  absence  of  my  chief,  and  also  because  I knew  that 
Monsieur  de  Portenduere  only  awaited  my  going  to  Nemours 
to  pick  a quarrel  with  me.  Tired,  perhaps,  of  the  long  post- 
ponement of  the  revenge  he  is  anxious  to  take  on  our  family, 
the  Vicomte  has  been  to  Fontainebleau,  where  he  appointed 


THE  MI  NO  RET  PROPERTY, \ 


239 


to  meet  one  of  his  friends  from  Paris,  after  making  sure  of 
the  assistance  of  the  Vicomte  de  Soulanges,  brigadier  of  the 
hussars  quartered  here. 

“ He  called  on  me  very  politely,  accompanied  by  these  two 
gentlemen,  and  told  me  that  my  father  was  undoubtedly  the 
originator  of  the  infamous  persecution  directed  against  Ursule 
Mirouet,  his  future  wife  ; he  gave  me  proof  by  telling  me  that 
Goupil  had  confessed  before  witnesses,  and  by  giving  me  an 
account  of  my  father’s  conduct ; he,  it  seems,  after  refusing 
at  first  to  carry  out  his  promises  to  Goupil  as  the  price  of  his 
villainous  devices,  found  the  necessary  funds  for  acquiring 
the  place  of  summonsing  officer  at  Nemours,  and,  finally,  out 
of  fear,  stood  surety  to  Monsieur  Dionis  for  the  purchase  of 
his  practice,  and  so  disposed  of  Goupil.  The  Vicomte,  who 
cannot  fight  a man  of  sixty-seven,  and  who  insists  on  aveng- 
ing the  insults  heaped  on  Ursule,  formally  asked  satisfaction 
of  me.  His  purpose,  thought  out  and  determined  on  in 
silence,  was  not  to  be  altered.  If  I should  refuse  to  fight,  he 
meant  to  meet  me  in  a drawing-room  in  the  presence  of  those 
persons  whose  opinion  I most  value,  and  there  to  insult  me  so 
grossly  that  either  I must  fight  or  my  hopes  in  life  be  at  an 
end.  In  France  a coward  is  universally  contemned.  More- 
over, his  motives  for  demanding  such  reparation  would  be 
laid  before  me  by  gentlemen  of  honor. 

“ He  was  sorry,  he  said,  to  be  driven  to  such  extremities. 
In  the  opinion  of  his  seconds,  the  wisest  thing  I could  do 
would  be  to  arrange  a meeting,  as  men  of  honor  are  in  the 
habit  of  doing,  in  such  a way  that  Ursule’s  name  should  not 
appear  in  the  matter.  Finally,  to  avoid  all  scandal  in  France, 
we  could,  with  our  seconds,  cross  the  frontier  at  the  nearest 
point.  Thus  everything  would  be  arranged  for  the  best. 
His  name,  he  said,  was  worth  ten  times  my  fortune,  and  his 
prospects  of  happiness  were  a greater  stake  for  him  to  risk 
than  anything  I could  risk  in  this  duel,  which  is  to  be  fatal. 
He  desired  me  to  choose  seconds  and  settle  the  matter.  My 


240 


UR SUL E MIROUET. 


seconds  met  his  yesterday,  and  they  unanimously  decided 
that  I owe  him  this  reparation. 

“In  a week  I set  out  for  Geneva  with  two  of  my  friends. 
Monsieur  de  Portenduere,  Monsieur  de  Soulanges,  and  Mon- 
sieur de  Trailles  will  go  their  own  way.  We  fight  with 
pistols;  all  the  details  are  arranged.  Each  is  to  fire  three 
shots,  and  then,  whatever  may  have  come  of  it,  the  matter  is 
at  an  end.  To  avoid  all  talk  of  such  a dirty  business — for  I 
cannot  possibly  justify  my  father’s  conduct — I am  writing  to 
you  only  at  the  last  minute.  I will  not  go  to  see  you  on 
account  of  the  violence  you  might  display,  which  would  be 
quite  out  of  place.  To  make  my  way  in  the  world  I must 
obey  its  laws ; and  where  a Vicomte  finds  ten  reasons  for  a 
duel,  the  son  of  a postmaster  must  have  a hundred.  I shall 
pass  through  Nemours  at  night,  and  will  there  bid  you  good- 
by.” 

When  they  had  read  this  letter,  there  was  a scene  between 
Zelie  and  Minoret,  which  ended  in  his  confessing  the  theft, 
with  all  the  circumstances  connected  with  it,  and  the  strange 
scenes  to  which  it  had  everywhere  given  rise,  even  in  the 
realm  of  dreams.  The  million  had  the  same  fascination  for 
Zelie  as  it  had  for  Minoret,  and  she  did  not  propose  to  let  it 
give  her  any  uneasiness. 

“ Do  you  stay  quietly  here,”  said  Zelie,  without  the  smallest 
reproach  to  her  husband  for  his  blundering ; “ I will  take  the 
matter  in  hand.  We  will  keep  the  money,  and  Desire  shall 
not  fight.” 

Madame  Minoret  put  on  her  shawl  and  bonnet  and  hurried 
off  to  Ursule  with  her  son’s  letter ; she  found  her  alone,  for 
it  was  about  twelve  o’clock. 

In  spite  of  her  audacity,  Zelie  Minoret  was  abashed  by  the 
girl’s  cold  looks,  but  she  scolded  herself  for  her  cowardice, 
and  took  an  airy  tone. 

“ Here,  Mademoiselle  Mirouet,  have  the  kindness  to  read 


THE  MINORET  PROPERTY. 


241 


this  letter,  and  tell  me  what  you  think  of  it,”  she  exclaimed, 
holding  out  her  son’s  letter. 

Ursule  felt  a thousand  conflicting  emotions  on  reading  this 
letter,  which  proved  to  her  how  deeply  she  was  loved,  and 
what  care  Savinien  would  take  of  the  honor  of  the  woman  he 
was  about  to  marry ; but  she  was  at  once  too  pious  and  too 
- charitable  to  desire  to  be  the  cause  of  death  or  suffering  to  her 
worst  enemy. 

“ I promise  you,  madame,  that  I will  hinder  this  duel,  and 
your  mind  may  be  easy  ; but  I beg  you  to  leave  me  the  letter.” 

“ Let  us  see,  my  beauty,  if  we  cannot  do  better  than  that. 
Listen  to  me.  We  have  estates  to  the  tune  of  forty-eight 
thousand  a year  round  Le  Rouvre,  which  is  a real  royal  chateau; 
besides  that  we  can  give  Desire  twenty-four  thousand  francs  a 
year  in  consols ; seventy-two  thousand  francs  a year  in  all. 
You  will  allow  that  there  are  not  many  matches  to  compare 
with  him.  You  are  an  ambitious  little  puss — and  you  are 
very  right,”  added  Zelie,  noting  Ursule’s  eager  gesture  of 
denial.  “ I have  come  to  ask  your  hand  for  Desire  ; you 
will  take  your  godfather’s  name — that  will  do  it  honor. 
Desire,  as  you  may  have  seen,  is  a good-looking  young  fellow; 
he  is  very  much  liked  at  Fontainebleau,  and  will  soon  be 
public  prosecutor.  You,  who  are  such  a coaxing  charmer, 
will  get  him  to  Paris.  At  Paris  we  will  give  you  a fine  house; 
you  will  shine  and  play  a part  in  society ; for  with  seventy-two 
thousand  francs  a year  and  the  salary  of  a good  appointment, 
you  and  Desire  will  be  in  the  highest  circles.  Consult  your 
friends;  you  will  see  what  they  say.” 

“ I need  only  consult  my  heart,  madame.” 

“ Pooh,  pooh  ! Now  you  will  be  talking  of  that  little  lady- 
killer,  Savinien  ! Hang  it  all ! you  will  pay  very  dear  for  his 
name,  his  little  mustache  twirled  into  two  curly  spikes,  and 
his  black  hair.  A pretty  boy  he  is  ! A nice  business  you  will 
make  of  housekeeping  on  seven  thousand  francs  a year,  and  a 
husband  who  ran  into  debt  for  a hundred  thousand  in  two 
16 


242 


URSULE  MIROUETt 


years  in  Paris.  You  don’t  know  it  yet,  my  child,  but  all 
men  are  alike;  and  though  I say  it  that  shouldn’t,  my  Desire 
is  every  bit  as  good  as  a king’s  son.” 

“ You  are  forgetting,  madame,  the  danger  that  your  son  is 
in  at  this  moment,  which  can  only  be  averted  by  Monsieur 
de  Portenduere’s  wish  to  oblige  me.  The  danger  would  be 
quite  inevitable  if  he  should  learn  that  you  are  making  such- 
a dishonoring  proposal.  I may  assure  you,  madame,  that  I 
shall  be  happier  with  the  small  income  to  which  you  allude 
than  with  the  wealth  you  describe  to  dazzle  me.  For  reasons 
unknown  as  yet — for  everything  will  be  known,  madame — 
Monsieur  Minoret,  by  his  odious  persecution,  has  brought  to 
light  the  affection  which  binds  me  to  Monsieur  de  Porten- 
duere,  and  which  I may  openly  avow  since  his  mother  will 
give  us  her  blessing ; I may  tell  you  that  this  affection,  now 
sanctioned  and  legitimate,  is  all  I live  for.  No  lot,  however 
splendid,  however  elevated,  would  induce  me  to  change.  I 
love  beyond  all  possibility  of  repentance  or  change.  Hence 
it  would  be  a crime,  undoubtedly  punished,  if  I were  to  marry 
a man  to  whom  I could  only  bring  a heart  that  is  wholly 
Savinien’s.  And,  indeed,  madame,  since  you  drive  me  to  it, 

I will  say  more ; even  if  I did  not  love  Monsieur  de  Porten- 
duere,  I could  never  make  up  my  mind  to  go  through  the 
sorrows  and  joys  of  life  as  your  son’s  companion.  If  Monsieur 
Savinien  has  been  in  debt,  you  have  often  paid  Monsieur 
Desire’s.  Our  natures  have  neither  the  points  of  resemblance 
nor  of  difference  which  would  allow  of  our  living  together 
without  covert  bitterness.  I,  perhaps,  should  riot  show  him 
the  tolerance  that  a woman  owes  to  her  husband  ; I should 
therefore  soon  become  a burden  to  him.  Think  no  more  of 
a marriage  of  which  I am  unworthy,  and  which  I may  decline 
without  causing  you  the  smallest  regret,  since,  with  such  ad- 
vantages, you  will  not  fail  to  find  plenty  of  girls  handsomer 
than  I am,  of  higher  rank,  and  much  richer.” 

“Swear  to  me,  child,”  said  Zelie,  “that  you  will  pre- 


THE  MINORET  PROPERTY. 


243 


vent  these  two  young  men  from  taking  their  journey  and 
fighting.” 

“ It  will,  I know,  be  the  greatest  sacrifice  Monsieur  de  Por- 
tenduere  can  make  for  my  sake.  But  my  bridal  wreath  must 
not  be  claimed  by  blood-stained  hands.” 

“ Very  well,  little  cousin ; I am  much  obliged  to  you,  and 
I hope  you  may  be  happy.  * ’ 

“ And  I,  madame,  hope  you  may  realize  the  promise  of 
your  son’s  future.” 

This  reply  struck  to  the  mother’s  heart ; she  remembered 
the  predictions  of  Ursule’s  last  dream ; she  stood  up,  her 
little  eyes  fixed  on  Ursule’s  face — so  pale,  pure,  and  fair  in 
her  half-mourning  dress — for  Ursule  had  risen,  as  a hint  to 
her  self-called  cousin  to  leave. 

“Then  you  believe  in  dreams?”  asked  Zelie. 

“I  suffer  from  them  too  much  not  to  believe  in  them.” 

“ But  then ” Zelie  began. 

“Good-morning,  madame,”  said  Ursule,  with  a bow  to 
Madame  Minoret,  as  she  heard  the  cure’s  step. 

The  Abbe  Chaperon  was  surprised  to  find  Madame  Minoret 
with  Ursule.  The  anxiety  depicted  on  the  retired  postmis- 
tress’ pinched  and  wrinkled  face  naturally  led  the  priest  to 
study  the  two  women  by  turns. 

“ Do  you  believe  in  ghosts  ? ” Zelie  asked  the  cure. 

“Do  you  believe  in  dividends?”  replied  the  cure,  smil- 
ing. 

“ Sharpers — all  of  them  ! ” thought  Zelie  ; “ they  want  to 
get  round  us.  The  old  priest,  the  old  justice,  and  that  ras- 
cally little  Savinien  have  arranged  it  all.  There  are  no  more 
dreams  in  it  than  there  are  hairs  in  the  palm  of  my  hand.” 
She  then  courtesied  twice  with  curt  abruptness,  and  went 
away. 

“ I know  why  Savinien  went  to  Fontainebleau,”  said  Ursule 
to  the  Abbe  Chaperon,  and  she  informed  him  of  the  duel, 
begging  him  to  use  his  influence  to  prevent  it. 


244 


UR SUL E MlROUET. 


‘‘And  Madame  Minoret  proposed  to  you  to  marry  her 
son  ? ” asked  the  old  man. 

“Yes.” 

“ Minoret  has  probably  confessed  his  crime  to  his  wife,” 
added  the  cure. 

The  justice,  who  came  in  at  this  moment,  heard  of  the 
proceedings  and  the  offer  made  by  Zelie,  whose  hatred  ‘of 
Ursule  was  known  to  him,  and  he  glanced  at  the  cure  as  much 
as  to  say — “ Come  out ; I want  to  speak  to  you  about  Ursule 
out  of  her  hearing.” 

“ Savinien  will  hear  that  you  have  refused  eighty  thousand 
francs  a year  and  the  cock  of  the  walk  of  Nemours!  ” he 
said. 

“Is  that  any  sacrifice?”  answered  she.  “Is  anything  a 
sacrifice  to  those  who  truly  love?  And  is  there  any  merit  in 
my  refusing  the  son  of  a man  we  despise?  If  others  can 
make  a virtue  of  their  aversions,  that  should  not  be  the  moral 
code  of  a girl  brought  up  by  a Jordy,  an  Abbe  Chaperon, 
and  our  dear  doctor ! ” and  she  looked  up  at  the  portrait. 

Bongrand  took  Ursule’s  hand  and  kissed  it. 

“Do  you  know,”  said  the  justice  to  the  cure  when  they 
were  in  the  street,  “what  Madame  Minoret  came  for?” 

“What?”  said  the  priest,  looking  at  his  friend  with  a keen 
eye  that  only  revealed  curiosity. 

“ She  wanted  to  make  a kind  of  restitution.” 

“ Then,  do  you  think ? ” began  the  Abbe  Chaperon. 

“I  do  not  think,  I am  sure — here,  only  look.”  The  jus- 
tice pointed  to  Minoret,  who  was  coming  towards  them  on 
his  way  home,  for  on  leaving  Ursule’s  house  the  two  friends 
had  turned  up  the  High  Street. 

“ Having  to  plead  in  court,  I have  naturally  studied  many 
cases  of  remorse,  but  I never  saw  one  to  compare  with  this. 
What  can  have  produced  that  flaccid  pallor  in  cheeks  of  which 
the  skin  was  tight,  as  a drum,  bursting  with  the  coarse,  rude 
health  of  a man  without  a care  ? What  has  set  dark  rings 


THE  MIN O RET  PROPERTY. 


245 


round  those  eyes,  and  deadened  their  rustic  twinkle?  Could 
you  have  believed  that  there  would  ever  be  a wrinkle  on  that 
brow,  or  that  that  colossus  could  ever  have  felt  his  brain 
reel ! At  last  he  is  conscious  of  a heart ! I know  the  phases 
of  remorse,  my  dear  cure,  as  you  know  those  of  repentance. 
Those  that  have  hitherto  come  under  my  observation  were 
awaiting  punishment,  or  condemned  to  endure  it,  to  settle 
their  score  with  the  world ; they  were  resigned,  or  breathed 
vengeance.  But  here  we  have  remorse  without  expiation ; 
remorse  pure  and  simple,  greedy  of  its  prey,  and  rending  it. 
You  are  not  yet  aware,”  said  the  justice,  stopping  Minoret, 
“ that  Mademoiselle  Mirouct  has  just  refused  your  son’s 
hand?” 

“But,”  added  the  cure,  “you  may  be  easy;  she  will  pre- 
vent his  duel  with  Monsieur  de  Portenduere.” 

“Ah  ! my  wife  has  been  successful,”  said  Minoret ; “ I am 
very  glad.  I was  more  dead  than  alive.” 

“You  are  indeed  so  altered  that  you  are  not  like  yourself,” 
said  the  justice. 

Minoret  looked  from  one  to  the  other  to  see  if  the  cure 
had  betrayed  him,  but  the  abbe  preserved  a fixity  of  counte- 
nance, a calm  melancholy,  that  at  once  greatly  reassured  the 
guilty  man. 

“And  the  change  is  all  the  more  surprising,”  the  lawyer 
went  on,  “because  you  ought  to  be  perfectly  happy.  Why, 
here  you  are,  lord  of  Le  Rouvre,  to  which  you  have  added 
Les  Bordieres,  all  your  farms,  your  mills,  your  meadows.  You 
have  a hundred  thousand  francs  a year  in  consols ” 

“ I hold  no  consols,”  said  Minoret,  hastily. 

“ Bah  ! ” said  the  justice.  “ Why,  it  is  just  the  same  with 
that  as  with  your  son’s  love  for  Ursule.  One  day  he  will  have 
nothing  to  say  to  her,  and  the  next  asks  her  to  marry  him. 
After  having  tried  to  kill  Ursule  with  misery,  you  want  to 
have  her  for  a daughter-in-law  ! My  dear  sir,  there  is  some- 
thing at  the  bottom  of  all  this  ! ” 


246  URSULE  MIROUET. 

Minoret  wanted  to  answer ; he  tried  to  find  words ; he  could 
only  bring  out — 

“You  are  funny,  Mr.  Justice  of  the  Peace.  Good-day, 
gentlemen.  ” 

And  with  this  reply  he  slowly  turned  down  the  Rue  des 
Bourgeois. 

“ He  has  stolen  our  poor  Ursule’s  fortune.  But  how  can 
we  prove  it  ? ” 

“God  grant ” said  the  cure. 

“ God  has  endowed  us  with  a feeling  which  is  now  speaking 
in  that  man,”  replied  the  justice.  “But  we  call  that  pre- 
sumptive evidence,  and  human  justice  requires  something 
more.” 

The  Abbe  Chaperon  kept  silent,  as  a priest.  As  happens 
in  such  cases,  he  thought  much  more  often  than  he  wished  of 
the  robbery  Minoret  had  almost  confessed,  and  of  Savinien’s 
happiness,  so  evidently  delayed  by  Ursule’s  lack  of  fortune; 
for  the  old  lady  owned  in  secret  to  her  spiritual  director  how 
wrong  she  had  been  not  to  consent  to  her  son’s  marriage  dur- 
ing the  doctor’s  lifetime. 

Next  day,  as  he  came  down  the  altar  steps  after  mass,  he 
was  struck  by  an  idea,  which  came  upon  him  with  the  force 
of  a voice  calling  to  him.  He  signed  to  Ursule  to  wait  for  him, 
and  went  home  with  her  without  breakfasting. 

“ My  dear  child,”  said  he,  “ I want  to  see  the  two  volumes 
in  which  your  godfather,  as  you  dream  of  him,  says  that  he 
placed  the  certificates  and  notes.” 

Ursule  and  the  cure  went  upstairs  to  the  library  and  took 
down  the  third  volume  of  the  “Pandects.”  On  opening  it, 
the  cure  observed,  not  without  surprise,  the  mark  left  by  some 
papers  on  the  pages,  which,  offering  less  resistance  than  the 
boards  of  the  binding,  still  showed  the  impression  made  by 
the  certificates  ; and  in  the  other  volume  it  was  easy  to  see  the 
readiness  to  open  caused  by  the  long  pressure  of  a packet  of 
papers  between  two  pages  of  the  folio. 


THE  MIN  ORE  T PROPERTY. 


247 


“ Come  in,  come  up ! ” cried  the  abbe  to  the  justice,  who 
was  just  passing  the  house. 

Bongrand  entered  the  room  at  the  very  moment  when  the 
priest  was  putting  on  his  spectacles  to  read  three  numbers 
written  by  the  dead  doctor’s  hand  on  the  colored  vellum- 
paper  guard  placed  inside  the  boards  by  the  binder,  and  which 
Ursule  had  just  detected. 

‘‘What  is  the  meaning  of  that?  Our  worthy  friend  was 
too  great  a book-lover  to  spoil  the  guard  of  a binding,”  said 
the  Abbe  Chaperon  ; “ here  are  three  numbers  written  between 
a first  number,  preceded  by  an  M,  and  another  preceded  by 
an  U.” 

“ What  do  you  say  ? ” cried  Bongrand.  “ Let  me  look  at 
that.  Good  God!”  he  exclaimed,  “is  not  this  enough  to 
open  the  eyes  of  an  atheist,  by  proving  to  him  the  existence 
of  Providence  ? Human  justice  is,  I believe,  the  develop- 
ment of  a divine  idea  brooding  over  the  universe.” 

He  seized  Ursule  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead. 

“ Oh  ! my  child,  you  shall  be  happy — rich — and  through 
me  ! ” 

“ What  is  it  ? ” said  the  cure. 

“ My  dear  monsieur  ! ” cried  La  Bougival,  taking  the  tail 
of  the  justice’s  blue  coat,  “let  me  embrace  you  for  what 
you  say.” 

“But  explain  yourself,”  said  the  cure,  “that  we  may  not 
rejoice  vainly.” 

“ If,  in  order  to  be  rich,  I must  give  anybody  pain,”  said 
Ursule,  who  had  an  inkling  of  a criminal  trial,  “ I ” 

“But  think,”  said  the  lawyer,  interrupting  Ursule,  “of 
the  happiness  you  will  give  our  dear  Savinien.” 

“ But  you  are  mad  ! ” said  the  cure. 

“ No,  my  dear  cure,”  said  Bongrand.  “Listen.  Certifi- 
cates of  consols  are  numbered  in  as  many  series  as  there  are 
letters  of  the  alphabet,  and  each  number  bears  the  letter  of 
its  series ; but  certificates  to  bearer  cannot  have  any  letter. 


248 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


since  they  are  inscribed  in  no  name.  Hence,  what  you  here 
see  proves  that,  on  the  day  when  the  good  man  placed  his 
money  in  state  securities,  he  made  a note  of  the  number  of 
his  certificate  for  fifteen  thousand  francs  a year  under  the 
letter  M — for  Minoret ; of  the  numbers  of  three  certificates 
to  bearer;  and  of  that  of  Ursule  Mirouet  under  the  letter  U, 
number  23,534,  which,  as  you  see,  immediately  follows  that 
of  the  certificate  for  fifteen  thousand  francs.  This  coincidence 
proves  that  these  numbers  are  those  of  five  certificates  ac- 
quired on  the  same  day,  and  noted  by  the  old  man  in  case  of 
loss.  I had  advised  him  to  put  Ursule’s  money  into  certifi- 
cates to  bearer,  and  he  must  have  invested  his  own  money, 
the  money  he  intended  for  Ursule,  and  her  little  property  all 
on  the  same  day.  I am  now  going  to  Dionis  to  look  at  the 
inventory.  If  the  number  of  the  certificate  he  left  in  his  own 
name  is  23,533,  letter  M,  we  may  be  certain  that  he  invested 
through  the  same  stockbroker,  and  on  the  same  day  : Firstly, 
his  own  money  in  one  lump  sum  ; secondly,  his  savings  in 
three  sums,  in  certificates  to  bearer  ; and,  thirdly,  his  ward’s 
money  ; the  register  of  transfer  will  afford  irrefutable  proof. 
Ah,  Minoret  the  wisehead,  I have  gotten  you  ! Mum’s  the 
word,  my  friends  ! ” 

The  justice  left  the  cure,  Ursule,  and  La  Bougival  lost  in 
admiration  of  the  ways  by  which  God  brings  innocence  to 
happy  issues. 

“The  finger  of  God  is  here  ! ” cried  the  Abbe  Chaperon. 

“ Will  they  do  him  any  hurt?  ” asked  Ursule. 

“ Oh,  mademoiselle,”  cried  La  Bougival,  “ I would  give 
the  rope  to  hang  him  with  ! ” 

The  justice  was  by  this  time  at  the  house  where  Goupil  was 
already  the  successor  designate  of  Dionis,  and  went  into  the 
office  with  a careless  air. 

“I  want  a little  information,”  said  he  to  Goupil,  “as  to 
the  estate  of  Doctor  Minoret.” 

“ What  is  it  ? ” asked  Goupil, 


THE  MIN O RET  PROPERTY. 


249 


“ Did  the  old  man  leave  one  or  more  certificates  of  invest- 
ment in  three  per  cents.?” 

“ He  left  fifteen  thousand  francs  of  income  in  three  per 
cents.,”  said  Goupil,  “in  one  certificate.  I entered  it  my- 
self.” 

“Then  just  look  in  the  inventory,”  said  the  justice. 

Goupil  took  down  a box,  turned  over  the  contents,  took 
out  the  document  in  question,  looked  through  it,  and  read, 
“Item,  one  certificate — there,  read  for  yourself — number 
23>533>  letter  M” 

“Be  so  kind  as  to  hand  over  to  me  an  extract  of  the  par- 
ticulars from  the  inventory  before  one  o’clock.  I will  wait 
for  it.” 

“ What  can  you  want  it  for  ? ” asked  Goupil. 

“Do  you  wish  to  become  notary?”  retorted  the  justice, 
looking  sternly  at  the  expectant  successor  to  Dionis. 

“I  should  think  so  ! ” cried  Goupil.  “ I am  sure  I have 
eaten  dirt  enough  to  earn  my  title  of  ‘ Master.’  I beg  you 
to  understand,  monsieur,  that  the  wretched  office  clerk  known 
as  Goupil  has  no  connection  with  4 Master  ’ Jean-Sebastien- 
Marie  Goupil,  notary  at  Nemours,  and  husband  to  Made- 
moiselle Massin.  The  two  men  do  not  know  each  other ; 
they  are  not  even  alike  in  any  particular.  Do  you  not  see 
me?” 

Monsieur  Bongrand  then  remarked  Goupil’s  dress.  He 
wore  a white  stock,  a shirt  of  dazzling  whiteness  with  ruby 
studs,  a red  velvet  waistcoat,  a coat  and  trousers  of  fine  black 
cloth  and  Paris  make.  He  had  neat  boots,  and  his  hair, 
carefully  combed  and  smoothed,  was  elegantly  scented.  In 
short,  he  seemed  to  have  been  metamorphosed  ! 

“ You  are,  in  fact,  another  man,”  said  Bongrand. 

“ Morally  as  well  as  physically,  monsieur.  Wisdom  comes 
with  work;  and  money  is  the  fountain  of  cleansing ” 

“ Morally  as  well  as  physically?”  said  the  justice,  settling 
his  spectacles. 


250 


UR SUL E MIROUET. 


“ Dear  me,  monsieur,  is  a man  with  a hundred  thousand 
crowns  a year  ever  a democrat  ? Regard  me  as  a respectable 
man,  who  has  a taste  for  refinement,  and  for  loving  his  wife,” 
he  added,  as  Madame  Goupil  came  in.  “ I am  so  much 
altered,”  said  he,  “ that  I think  my  cousin  Madame  Cremiere 
quite  witty.  I have  taken  her  in  hand  ; and  even  her  daugh- 
ter no  longer  talks  about  pistons.  Why,  only  yesterday,  in 
speaking  of  Monsieur  Savinien’s  dog,  she,  said  he  was  making 
a point.  Well,  I did  not  repeat  her  blunder,  though  it  is  a 
funny  one.  I at  once  explained  to  her  the  difference  be- 
tween pointing,  making  a point,  and  standing  at  point.  So, 
you  see,  I am  quite  another  man,  and  would  not  allow  a 
client  to  get  into  a mess.” 

“Well,  make  haste  then,”  said  Bongrand.  “Give  me 
that  copy  within  an  hour,  and  Goupil,  the  notary,  will  have 
done  something  towards  repairing  the  misdeeds  of  the  clerk.” 

After  borrowing  from  the  town  doctor  his  cab  and  horse,  the 
justice  went  to  fetch  the  two  accusing  folios,  Ursule’s  certifi- 
cate, and  the  extract  from  the  inventory ; armed  with  these, 
he  drove  to  Fontainebleau  to  the  public  prosecutor  there. 
Bongrand  easily  proved  the  abstraction  of  the  three  certifi- 
cates to  be  the  act  of  one  or  another  of  the  heirs-at-law,  and 
then  demonstrated  Minoret’s  guilt. 

“ It  accounts  for  his  conduct,”  said  the  lawyer. 

Then,  as  a measure  of  precaution,  he  stopped  the  transfer 
of  the  three  certificates  by  a minute  to  the  treasury,  he  desired 
Bongrand  to  ask  what  was  the  amount  of  interest  due  on  the 
three  certificates,  and  ascertain  if  they  had  been  sold. 

While  the  justice  went  to  do  all  this  at  Paris,  the  public 
prosecutor  wrote  a polite  note  to  Madame  Minoret  to  beg  her 
to  come  to  the  assize  town.  Zelie,  anxious  about  her  son’s 
duel,  dressed,  had  her  own  carriage  out,  and  drove  post-haste 
to  Fontainebleau.  The  public  prosecutor’s  scheme  was  simple 
but  formidable.  By  separating  the  husband  and  wife,  he  felt 
sure  of  learning  the  truth  as  a result  of  the  terrors  of  the  law. 


THE  M/NO  RE  T PROPERTY. 


251 


Zelie  found  the  magistrate  in  his  private  room,  and  was 
absolutely  thunderstruck  by  this  unceremonious  speech  : 

“ Madame,  I do  not  imagine  that  you  are  an  accomplice  in 
a robbery  made  at  the  time  of  Doctor  Minoret’s  death ; jus- 
tice is  now  on  the  traces,  and  you  will  save  your  husband 
from  appearing  at  the  bar  by  making  a full  confession  of  all 
you  know  about  it.  The  punishment  that  threatens  your 
husband  is  not,  indeed,  all  you  have  to  fear ; you  must  try  to 
save  your  son  from  degradation,  and  not  cut  his  throat.  In 
a few  minutes  it  will  be  too  late ; the  gendarmes  are  already 
on  horseback,  and  the  warrant  for  Minoret’s  apprehension 
will  be  sent  to  Nemours.” 

Zelie  fainted.  When  she  came  to  herself,  she  confessed 
everything.  After  proving  easily  to  this  woman  that  she  was 
an  accomplice,  the  magistrate  told  her  that,  to  avoid  ruining 
her  husband  and  son,  he  would  proceed  cautiously. 

“ You  have  had  to  deal  with  a man  and  not  with  a judge,” 
said  he.  “ There  is  no  charge  on  the  part  of  the  victim,  nor 
has  the  theft  been  made  public ; but  your  husband  has  com- 
mitted dreadful  crimes,  madame,  which  are  usually  tried  be- 
fore a tribunal  less  accommodating  than  I am.  In  the  present 
circumstances  of  the  case  you  will  be  obliged  to  remain  a 
prisoner.  Oh,  in  my  house,  and  on  parole,”  he  added,  see- 
ing Zelie  ready  to  faint  again.  “ Remember  that  my  strict 
duty  would  be  to  demand  a warrant  for  your  imprisonment, 
and  institute  an  inquiry;  however,  I am  acting  at  present  as 
the  legal  guardian  of  Mademoiselle  Ursule  Mirouet,  and  in 
her  interests,  wisely  understood,  a compromise  will  be  advis- 
able. ’ ’ 

“ Ah  ! ” said  Zelie. 

“ Write  as  follows  to  your  husband.”  And  he  dictated  this 
letter  to  Zelie,  who  wrote  it  at  his  desk,  with  preposterously 
bad  spelling  : 

“ My  Dear  : — I am  arrested,  and  I have  told  all.  Give 

V 


252 


UR  SUL  E MIROUET. 


up  the  certificates  left  by  our  uncle  to  Monsieur  de  Porten- 
duere  by  virtue  of  the  will  you  burned,  for  monsieur  the  public 
prosecutor  has  stopped  them  at  the  treasury.” 

“ By  this  means  you  will  prevent  his  making  denials,  which 
would  be  his  ruin,”  said  the  lawyer,  smiling  at  the  spelling. 
“ We  will  see  about  having  the  restitution  carried  out  in  a 
proper  manner.  My  wife  will  make  your  stay  at  my  house  as 
little  unpleasant  as  possible  ; I advise  you  to  say  nothing  to 
any  one,  and  not  to  show  your  distress.” 

As  soon  as  his  deputy’s  mother  had  confessed  and  been 
placed  in  safety,  the  magistrate  sent  for  Desire,  told  him 
point  by  point  the  story  of  the  robbery  committed  by  his 
father,  secretly  to  Ursule’s  detriment,  evidently  to  that  of  the 
co-heirs,  and  showed  him  the  letter  his  mother  had  written. 
Desire  immediately  begged  to  be  sent  to  Nemours,  to  see 
that  his  father  made  restitution. 

“The  whole  case  is  very  serious,”  said  his  chief.  “The 
will  having  been  destroyed,  if  the  thing  becomes  known,  the 
co-heirs,  Massin  and  Cremiere,  your  relations,  may  intervene. 
I have  now  sufficient  evidence  against  your  father.  I give 
your  mother  back  to  you  ; this  little  ceremony  has  sufficiently 
enlightened  her  as  to  her  duty.  In  her  eyes  I shall  seem 
to  have  yielded  to  your  entreaties  in  releasing  her.  Go  to 
Nemours  with  her,  and  guide  all  these  difficulties  to  a happy 
issue.  Fear  nobody.  Monsieur  Bongrand  loves  Mademoiselle 
Mirouet  too  well  to  commit  any  indiscretion.” 

Zelie  and  Desire  set  out  at  once  for  Nemours.  Three  hours 
after  his  deputy’s  departure,  the  public  prosecutor  received  by 
express  messenger  the  following  letter,  of  which  the  spelling 
is  corrected,  not  to  make  an  unhappy  man  ridiculous  : 

“ To  the  Public  Prosecutor  of  the  Court  of  Assizes  at 
Fontainebleau. 

“ Monsieur: — God  has  not  been  so  merciful  to  us  as  you 


THE  MI  NO  RET  PROPERTY. 


253 


have  been,  and  an  irreparable  misfortune  has  fallen  on  us. 
On  arriving  at  the  bridge  of  Nemours,  a strap  came  unfast- 
ened. My  wife  was  at  the  back  of  the  chaise  without  a ser- 
vant ; the  horses  smelt  the  stable.  My  son,  afraid  of  their 
restiveness,  would  not  let  the  coachman  get  down,  and  got 
out  himself  to  buckle  it  up.  At  the  moment  when  he  turned 
to  get  up  again  by  his  mother,  the  horses  started  off ; Desire 
did  not  make  way  quickly  enough  by  squeezing  back  against 
the  parapet,  the  iron  step  cut  his  legs ; he  fell,  and  the  hind 
wheel  went  over  his  body.  The  messenger  riding  express  to 
Paris  to  fetch  the  first  surgeons  will  carry  you  this  letter, 
which  my  son,  in  the  midst  of  his  suffering,  desires  me  to 
write,  to  express  to  you  our  entire  submission  to  your  de- 
cisions in  the  business  which  was  bringing  him  home. 

“ I shall  be  grateful  to  you  till  my  latest  breath  for  the 
way  in  which  you  have  proceeded,  and  will  justify  your 
confidence. 

“ Francois  Minoret.” 

This  terrible  event  upset  the  whole  town  of  Nemours.  The 
excited  crowd  that  gathered  round  Minoret’ s gate  showed 
Savinien  that  his  revenge  had  been  taken  in  hand  by  one 
more  powerful  than  he.  The  young  man  went  at  once  to 
Ursule,  and  the  young  girl  and  the  cure  alike  felt  more  horror 
than  surprise.  The  next  day,  after  the  first  treatment,  when 
the  Paris  doctors  and  surgeons  had  given  their  advice,  which 
was  unanimous  as  to  the  necessity  for  amputating  both  legs, 
Minoret,  pale,  dejected,  and  heart-broken,  came,  accompanied 
by  the  cure,  to  Ursule’s  house,  where,  he  found  Bongrand  and 
Savinien. 

“ Mademoiselle,”  said  he,  “ I am  guilty  towards  you  ; but 
though  all  the  ill  I have  done  cannot  be  entirely  repaired, 
some  I can  expiate.  My  wife  and  I have  made  up  our  minds 
to  give  you,  as  an  absolute  possession,  our  estate  of  Le  Rouvre 
if  we  preserve  our  son — as  well  as  if  we  have  the  terrible  grief 


254  URSULA  MIROUET. 

of  losing  him.”  As  he  ceased  speaking,  the  man  melted  into 
tears. 

“I  may  assure  you,  my  dear  Ursule,”  said  the  cure,  “that 
you  may  and  ought  to  accept  a part  of  this  gift.” 

“Do  you  forgive  us?”  said  the  colossus  humbly,  and 
kneeling  at  the  feet  of  the  astonished  girl.  “ In  a few  hours 
the  operation  is  to  be  performed  by  the  first  surgeon  of  the 
Hotel-Dieu  ; but  I put  no  trust  in  human  science;  I believe 
in  the  omnipotence  of  God  ! If  you  forgive  me,  if  you  will 
go  and  ask  God  to  preserve  us  our  son,  he  will  have  strength 
to  endure  this  torment,  and  we  shall  have  the  happiness  of 
keeping  him,  I am  sure  of  it.” 

“ Let  us  all  go  to  the  church  ! ” said  Ursule,  rising.  She 
was  no  sooner  on  her  feet  than  she  gave  a piercing  shriek,  fell 
back  in  her  chair,  and  fainted  away.  When  she  recovered 
her  senses,  she  saw  her  friends,  with  the  exception  of  Minoret, 
who  had  rushed  off  to  find  a doctor,  all  with  their  eyes  fixed 
on  her,  anxiously  expecting  her  to  speak  a word.  That  word 
filled  every  heart  with  horror. 

“ I saw  my  godfather  at  the  door,”  she  said.  “ He  signed 
to  me  that  there  was  no  hope.” 

And,  in  fact,  the  day  after  the  operation,  Desire  died, 
carried  off  by  fever  and  the  revulsion  of  the  humors  which 
follows  on  such  operations.  Madame  Minoret,  whose  heart 
held  no  sentiment  but  that  of  motherhood,  went  mad  after 
her  son’s  funeral,  and  was  taken  by  her  husband  to  the  care 
of  Doctor  Blanche  for  medical  treatment,  where  she  died  in 
January,  1841. 

Three  months  after  these  events,  in  January,  1837,  Ursule 
married  Savinien,  with  Madame  de  Portenduere’s  consent. 
Minoret  intervened  at  the  signing  of  the  contract  to  settle  on 
Mademoiselle  Mirouet,  by  deed  of  gift,  his  estate  of  Le 
Rouvre,  and  twenty-eight  thousand  francs  a year  in  consols, 
reserving  of  all  his  fortune  only  his  uncle’s  house  and  six 
thousand  francs  a year.  He  has  become  the  most  charitable 


THE  MINORET  PROPERTY. 


255 


and  pious  man  in  Nemours,  churchwarden  of  the  parish,  and 
the  providence  of  the  unfortunate. 

“ The  poor  have  taken  the  place  of  my  child,”  he  says. 

If  you  have  ever  observed  by  the  roadside,  in  districts 
where  the  oak  is  lopped  low,  some  old  tree,  bleached,  and,  as 
it  would  seem,  blasted,  but  still  throwing  out  shoots,  its  sides 
riven,  crying  out  for  the  axe,  you  will  have  an  idea  of  the  old 
postmaster,  white-haired,  bent,  and  lean,  in  whom  the  old 
folks  of  the  district  can  trace  nothing  of  the  happy  lout  whom 
we  saw  watching  for  his  son  at  the  beginning  of  this  tale ; he 
no  longer  takes  snuff  in  the  same  way  even  ; he  bears  some 
burden  besides  his  body.  In  short,  it  is  perceptible  in  every- 
thing that  the  hand  of  God  has  been  heavily  laid  on  that  form 
to  make  it  a terrible  example.  After  hating  his  uncle’s  ward 
so  bitterly,  this  old  man,  like  Doctor  Minoret  himself,  has  so 
set  his  affections  on  Ursule,  that  he  is  the  self-constituted 
steward  of  her  property  at  Nemours. 

Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Portenduere  spend  five  months 
of  the  year  in  Paris,  where  they  have  purchased  a splendid 
house  in  the  Faubourg  St. -Germain.  After  bestowing  her 
house  at  Nemours  on  the  Sisters  of  Charity  to  be  used  as  a 
free  school,  Madame  de  Portenduere  the  elder  went  to  live  at 
Le  Rouvre,  where  La  Bougival  is  the  head  gatekeeper.  Cab- 
irolle’s  father,  formerly  the  guard  of  the  ‘ ‘ Dueler,”  a man 
of  sixty,  has  married  La  Bougival,  who  owns  twelve  hundred 
francs  a year  in  consols,  besides  the  comfortable  profits  of  her 
place.  Cabirolle’s  son  is  Monsieur  de  Portenduere’s  coachman. 

When,  in  the  Cnamps-Elysees,  you  see  one  of  those  neat 
little  low  carriages,  known  as  escargots  (or  snail-shells),  drive 
past,  and  admire  a pretty,  fair  woman  leaning  lightly  against  a 
young  man,  her  face  surrounded  by  a myriad  of  curls,  like 
light  foliage,  and  eyes  like  luminous  periwinkle  flowers,  full 
of  love — if  you  should  feel  the  sting  of  envious  wishes, 
remember  that  this  handsome  couple,  the  favorites  of  God, 
have  paid  in  advance  their  tribute  to  the  woes  of  life.  These 


256 


URSULE  MIROUET. 


married  lovers  will  probably  be  the  Vicomte  de  Portenduere 
and  his  wife.  There  are  not  two  such  couples  in  Paris. 

“ It  is  the  prettiest  happiness  I ever  saw,”  said  the  Com- 
tesse  d’Estorade,  not  long  since. 

So  give  those  happy  children  your  blessing  instead  of  envy- 
ing them,  and  try  to  find  an  Ursule  Mirouet — a young  girl 
brought  up  by  three  old  men,  and  that  best  of  mothers — 
adversity. 

Goupil,  who  is  helpful  to  everybody,  and  justly  regarded  as 
the  wittiest  man  in  Nemours,  is  esteemed  by  the  little  town ; 
but  he  is  punished  in  his  children,  who  are  hideous,  rickety, 
and  hydrocephalous.  His  predecessor,  Dionis,  flourishes  in 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  of  which  he  is  one  of  the  greatest 
ornaments,  to  the  great  satisfaction  of  the  King  of  the 
French,  who  sees  Madame  Dionis  at  every  state  ball.  Madame 
Dionis  relates  to  all  the  town  of  Nemours  the  particulars  of 
her  reception  at  the  Tuileries,  and  the  grandeurs  of  the  King’s 
court.  She  is  queen  at  Nemours,  by  virtue  of  a king  who  is 
certainly  popular  in  that  sense. 

Bongrand  is  president  of  the  court  of  justice  at  Melun,  and 
his  son  is  on  the  high  road  to  becoming  a very  respectable 
public  prosecutor. 

Madame  Cremiere  still  says  the  funniest  things  in  the  world. 
She  writes  tambour  tambourg , and  says  it  is  because  her  pen 
splutters.  On  the  eve  of  her  daughter’s  marriage,  she  told 
her,  in  concluding  her  advice  to  her,  that  a wife  ought  to  be 
the  toiling  caterpillar  of  her  home,  and  keep  a sphinx’s  eye 
on  everything.  Indeed,  Goupil  is  making  a collection  of  his 
cousin’s  absurd  blunders,  a Cremi'eriana. 

“ We  have  had  the  grief  of  losing  our  good  Abbe  Chaperon 
this  winter,”  says  the  Vicomtesse  de  Portenduere,  who  nursed 
him  during  his  illness.  All  the  district  attended  his  funeral. 
Nemours  is  fortunate,  for  this  saintly  man’s  successor  is  the 
venerable  Cure  de  Saint-Lange. 

Paris,  June-July , 1841. 


MADAME  FIRMIANI. 


{To  my  dear  Alexandre  de  Berny,  from  his  old 
friend  De  Balzac.') 

Many  tales,  rich  in  situations,  or  made  dramatic  by  the 
endless  sport  of  chance,  carry  their  plot  in  themselves,  and 
can  be  related  artistically  or  simply  by  any  lips  without  the 
smallest  loss  of  the  beauty  of  the  subject ; but  there  are  some 
incidents  of  human  life  to  which  only  the  accents  of  the  heart 
can  give  life ; there  are  certain  anatomical  details,  so  to 
speak,  of  which  the  delicacy  appears  only  under  the  most 
skillful  infusions  of  mind.  Again,  there  are  portraits  which 
demand  a soul,  and  are  nothing  without  the  more  ethereal 
features  of  the  responsive  countenance.  Finally,  there  are 
certain  things  which  we  know  not  how  to  say,  or  to  depict, 
without  I know  not  what  unconceived  harmonies  that  are 
under  the  influence  of  a day  or  an  hour,  of  a happy  conjunc- 
tion of  celestial  signs,  or  of  some  occult  moral  predisposition. 

Such  revelations  as  these  are  absolutely  required  for  the 
telling  of  this  simple  story,  in  which  I would  fain  interest 
some  of  those  naturally  melancholy  and  pensive  souls  which 
are  fed  on  bland  emotions.  If  the  writer,  like  a surgeon  by 
the  side  of  a dying  friend,  has  become  imbued  with  a sort  of 
respect  for  the  subject  he  is  handling,  why  should  not  the 
reader  share  this  inexplicable  feeling?  Is  it  so  difficult  to 
throw  one’s  self  into  that  vague,  nervous  melancholy  which 
sheds  gray  hues  on  all  our  surroundings,  which  is  half  an  ill- 
ness, though  its  languid  suffering  is  sometimes  a pleasure  ? 

If  you  are  thinking  by  chance  of  the  dear  friends  you  have 
lost ; if  you  are  alone,  and  it  is  night,  or  the  day  is  dying, 
read  this  narrative;  otherwise,  throw  the  book  aside,  here. 
If  you  have  never  buried  some  kind  aunt,  an  invalid  or  poor, 
17  (257) 


258 


MADAME  FIR  MIA  NT. 


you  will  not  understand  these  pages.  To  some,  they  will  be 
odorous  as  of  musk ; to  others,  they  will  be  as  colorless,  as 
strictly  virtuous  as  those  of  Florian.  In  short,  the  reader 
must  have  known  the  luxury  of  tears  ; must  have  felt  the 
wordless  grief  of  a memory  that  drifts  lightly  by,  bearing  a 
shade  that  is  dear  but  remote  ; he  must  possess  some  of  those 
remembrances  that  make  us  at  the  same  time  regret  those 
whom  the  earth  has  swallowed,  and  smile  over  vanished  joys. 

And  now  the  author  would  have  you  believe  that  for  all  the 
wealth  of  England  he  would  not  extort  from  poetry  even  one 
of  her  fictions  to  add  grace  to  this  narrative.  This  is  a true 
story,  on  which  you  may  pour  out  the  treasure  of  your  sensi- 
bilities, if  you  have  any. 

In  these  days  our  language  has  as  many  dialects  as  there  are 
men  in  the  great  human  family.  And  it  is  a really  curious 
and  interesting  thing  to  listen  to  the  different  views  or  ver- 
sions of  one  and  the  same  thing,  or  event,  as  given  by  the 
various  species  which  make  up  the  monograph  of  the  Parisian 
— the  Parisian  being  taken  as  a generic  term.  Thus  you 
might  ask  a man  of  the  matter-of-fact  type,  “ Do  you  know 
Madame  Firmiani?”  and  this  man  would  interpret  Madame 
Firmiani  by  such  an  inventory  as  this:  “A  large  house  in 
the  Rue  du  Bac,  rooms  handsomely  furnished,  fine  pictures, 
a hundred  thousand  francs  a year  in  good  securities,  and  a 
husband  who  was  formerly  receiver-general  in  the  department 
of  Montenotte.”  Having  thus  spoken,  your  matter-of-fact 
man — stout  and  roundabout,  almost  always  dressed  in  black — - 
draws  up  his  lower  lip,  so  as  to  cover  the  upper  lip,  and  nods 
his  head,  as  much  as  to  say,  ‘ ‘ Very  respectable  people,  there 
is  nothing  to  be  said  against  them.”  Ask  him  no  more. 
Your  matter-of-fact  people  state  everything  in  figures,  divi- 
dends, or  real  estate — a great  word  in  their  dictionary. 

Turn  to  your  right,  go  and  question  that  young  man,  who 
belongs  to  the  lounger  species,  and  repeat  your  inquiry. 


MADAME  FIR  MIA  NT. 


259 


“ Madame  Firmiani?”  says  he.  “Yes,  yes,  I know  her 
very  well.  I go  to  her  evenings.  She  receives  on  Wednes- 
days; a very  good  house  to  know.”  Madame  Firmiani  is 
already  metamorphosed  into  a house.  The  house  is  not  a 
mere  mass  of  stones  architecturally  put  together ; no,  this 
word,  in  the  language  of  the  lounger,  has  no  equivalent. 
And  here  your  lounger,  a dry-looking  man,  with  a pleasant 
smile,  saying  clever  nothings,  but  always  with  more  acquired 
wit  than  natural  wit,  bends  to  your  ear,  and  says  with  a know- 
ing air:  “I  never  saw  Monsieur  Firmiani.  His  social  posi- 
tion consists  in  managing  estates  in  Italy.  But  Madame 
Firmiani  is  French,  and  spends  her  income  as  a Parisian 
should.  She  gives  excellent  tea  ! It  is  one  of  the  few  houses 
where  you  really  can  amuse  yourself,  and  where  everything 
they  give  you  is  exquisite.  It  is  very  difficult  to  get  intro- 
duced, and  the  best  society  is  to  be  seen  in  her  drawing- 
rooms.” Then  the  lounger  emphasizes  his  last  words  by 
gravely  taking  a pinch  of  snuff ; he  applies  it  to  his  nose  in 
little  dabs,  and  seems  to  be  saying:  “I  go  to  the  house,  but 
do  not  count  on  my  introducing  you.” 

To  folks  of  this  type  Madame  Firmiani  keeps  a sort  of  inn 
without  a sign. 

“ Why  on  earth  can  you  want  to  go  to  Madame  Firmiani’s? 
It  is  as  dull  there  as  it  is  at  court.  Of  what  use  are  brains  if 
they  do  not  keep  you  out  of  such  drawing-rooms,  where,  with 
poetry  such  as  is  now  current,  you  hear  the  most  trivial  little 
ballad  just  hatched  out.” 

You  have  asked  one  of  your  friends  who  comes  under  the 
class  of  petty  autocrats — men  who  would  like  to  have  the 
universe  under  lock  and  key,  and  have  nothing  done  without 
their  leave.  They  are  miserable  at  other  people’s  enjoyment, 
can  forgive  nothing  but  vice,  wrong-doing,  and  infirmities, 
and  want  nothing  but  proteges.  Aristocrats  by  taste,  they  are 
republicans  out  of  spite,  simply  to  discover  many  inferiors 
among  their  equals. 


260 


MADAME  FIRMIANI. 


“Oh,  Madame  Firmiani,  my  dear  fellow,  is  one  of  those 
adorable  women  whom  nature  feels  to  be  a sufficient  excuse 
for  all  the  ugly  ones  she  has  created  by  mistake ; she  is  be- 
witching, she  is  kind  ! I should  like  to  be  in  power  to  be 
king,  to  have  millions  of  money,  solely  ” (and  three  words  are 
whispered  in  your  ear).  “ Shall  I introduce  you  to  her? 99 

This  young  man  is  a schoolboy,  known  for  his  audacious 
bearing  among  men  and  his  extreme  shyness  in  private. 

“ Madame  Firmiani  ! ” cries  another,  twirling  his  cane  in 
the  air.  “I  will  tell  you  what  I think  of  her.  She  is  a 
woman  of  between  thirty  and  thirty-five,  face  a little  passee , 
fine  eyes,  a flat  figure,  a worn  contralto  voice,  dresses  a great 
deal,  rouges  a little,  manners  charming;  in  short,  my  dear 
fellow,  the  remains  of  a pretty  woman  which  are  still  worthy 
of  a passion.” 

This  verdict  is  pronounced  by  a specimen  of  the  genus  cox- 
comb, who,  having  just  breakfasted,  does  not  weigh  his  words, 
and  is  going  out  riding.  At  such  moments  a coxcomb  is  piti- 
less. 

“ She  has  a collection  of  magnificent  pictures  in  her  house. 
Go  and  see  her,”  says  another;  “ nothing  can  be  finer.” 

You  have  come  upon  the  species  amateur.  This  individual 
quits  you  to  go  to  Perignon’s,  or  to  Tripet’s.  To  him  Madame 
Firmiani  is  a number  of  painted  canvases. 

A wife. — “Madame  Firmiani?  I will  not  have  you  go 
there.”  This  phrase  is  the  most  suggestive  view  of  all. 
Madame  Firmiani.  A dangerous  woman  ! A siren  ! She 
dresses  well,  has  good  taste ; she  spoils  the  night’s  rest  of 
every  wife.  The  speaker  is  of  the  species  shrew. 

An  attache  to  an  embassy. — “ Madame  Firmiani  ? From 
Antwerp,  is  she  not?  I saw  that  woman,  very  handsome, 
about  ten  years  ago.  She  was  then  at  Rome.” 

Men  of  the  order  of  attaches  have  a mania  for  utterances  a 
la  Talleyrand,  their  wit  is  often  so  subtle  that  their  perception 
is  imperceptible.  They  are  like  those  billiard  players  who 


MADAME  FIR  MIAMI. 


261 


miss  the  balls  with  infinite  skill.  These  men  are  not  generally 
great  talkers ; but  when  they  talk  it  is  of  nothing  less  than 
Spain,  Vienna,  Italy,  or  Saint  Petersburg.  The  names  of 
countries  act  on  them  like  springs;  you  press  them  and  the 
machinery  plays  all  its  tunes. 

“Does  not  that  Madame  Firmiani  see  a great  deal  of  the 
Faubourg  Saint-Germain?”  This  is  asked  by  a person  who 
desires  claims  to  distinction.  She  adds  a de  to  everybody’s 
name — to  Monsieur  Dupin,  senior,  to  Monsieur  Lafayette; 
she  flings  it  right  and  left  and  spatters  people  with  it.  She 
spends  her  life  in  anxieties  as  to  what  is  correct ; but,  for  her 
sins,  she  lives  in  the  unfashionable  Marais,  and  her  husband 
was  an  attorney — but  an  attorney  in  the  King’s  court. 

“ Madame  Firmiani,  monsieur?  I do  not  know  her.”  This 
man  is  of  the  class  of  dukes.  He  recognizes  no  woman  who 
has  not  been  presented.  Excuse  him ; he  was  created  duke 
by  Napoleon. 

“Madame  Firmiani?  Was  she  not  a singer  at  the  Italian 
opera  house?”  A man  of  the  genus  simpleton.  The  indi- 
viduals of  this  genus  must  have  an  answer  to  everything. 
They  would  rather  speak  calumnies  than  be  silent. 

Two  old  ladies  {the  wives  of  retired  lawyers).  The  first 
(she  has  a cap  with  bows  of  ribbon,  her  face  is  wrinkled,  her 
nose  sharp ; she  holds  a prayer-book,  and  her  voice  is  harsh). — 
“What  was  her  maiden  name — this  Madame  Firmiani  ? ” 

The  second  (she  has  a little  red  face  like  a lady-apple, 
and  a gentle  voice). — “She  was  a Cadignan,  my  dear,  niece 
of  the  old  Prince  de  Cadignan,  and  cousin,  consequently,  to 
the  Due  de  Maufrigneuse.” 

Madame  Firmiani  then  is  a Cadignan.  Bereft  of  virtues, 
fortune,  and  youth,  she  would  still  be  a Cadignan ; that,  like 
a prejudice,  is  always  rich  and  living. 

An  eccentric. — “ My  dear  fellow,  I never  saw  any  clogs 
in  her  anteroom ; you  may  go  to  her  house  without  com- 
promising yourself,  and  play  there  without  hesitation ; for  if 


262 


MADAME  FTRMIANI 


there  should  be  any  rogues,  they  will  be  people  of  quality, 
consequently  there  is  no  quarreling.” 

An  old  man  of  the  species  observer. — ‘‘You  go  to 
Madame  Firmiani’s,  my  dear  fellow,  and  you  find  a hand- 
some woman  lounging  indolently  by  the  fire.  She  will 
scarcely  move  from  her  chair ; she  rises  only  to  greet  women, 
or  ambassadors,  or  dukes — people  of  importance.  She  is  very 
gracious,  she  charms  you,  she  talks  well,  and  likes  to  talk  of 
everything.  She  bears  every  indication  of  a passionate  soul, 
but  she  is  credited  with  too  many  adorers  to  have  a lover.  If 
suspicion  rested  on  only  two  or  three  intimate  visitors,  we 
might  know  which  was  her  gallant  slave.  But  she  is  all 
mystery ; she  is  married,  and  we  have  never  seen  her  hus- 
band ; Monsieur  Firmiani  is  purely  a creature  of  fancy,  like 
the  third  horse  we  are  made  to  pay  for  when  traveling  post, 
and  which  we  never  see  ; madame,  if  you  believe  the  profes- 
sionals, has  the  finest  contralto  voice  in  Europe,  and  has  not 
sung  three  times  since  she  came  to  Paris ; she  receives  num- 
bers of  people,  and  goes  nowhere.” 

The  observer  speaks  as  an  oracle.  His  words,  his  anec- 
dotes, his  quotations  must  all  be  accepted  as  truth,  or  you  risk 
being  taken  for  a man  without  knowledge  of  the  world,  with- 
out capabilities.  He  will  slander  you  lightly  in  twenty  draw- 
ing-rooms, where  he  is  as  essential  as  the  first  piece  in  the 
bill — pieces  so  often  played  to  the  benches,  but  which  once 
upon  a time  were  successful.  The  observer  is  a man  of  forty, 
never  dines  at  home,  and  professes  not  to  be  dangerous  to 
women ; he  wears  powder  and  a maroon-colored  coat ; he 
can  always  have  a seat  in  various  boxes  at  the  Theatre  des 
Bouffons.  He  is  sometimes  mistaken  for  a parasite,  but  he 
has  held  too  high  positions  to  be  suspected  of  sponging,  and, 
indeed,  possesses  an  estate,  in  a department  of  which  the 
name  has  never  leaked  out. 

“Madame  Firmiani?  Why,  my  dear  boy,  she  was  a mis- 
tress of  Murat’s.”  This  gentleman  is  a contradictory.  They 


MADAME  FIRMIANI. 


263 


supply  the  errata  to  every  memory,  rectify  every  fact,  bet  you 
a hundred  to  one,  are  cock-sure  of  everything.  You  catch 
them  out  in  a single  evening  in  flagrant  delictions  of  ubiquity. 
They  assert  that  they  were  in  Paris  at  the  time  of  Mallet’s 
conspiracy,  forgetting  that  half  an  hour  before  they  had 
crossed  the  Beresina.  The  contradictories  are  almost  all 
members  of  the  Legion  of  Honor ; they  talk  very  loud,  have 
receding  foreheads,  and  play  high. 

“Madame  Firmiani,  a hundred  thousand  francs  a year? 
Are  you  mad  ? Really  some  people  scatter  thousands  a year 
with  the  liberality  of  authors,  to  whom  it  costs  nothing  to 
give  their  heroines  handsome  fortunes.  But  Madame  Firmiani 
is  a flirt  who  ruined  a young  fellow  the  other  day,  and  hin- 
dered him  from  making  a very  good  marriage.  If  she  were 
not  handsome,  she  would  be  penniless.” 

This  speaker  you  recognize ; he  is  one  of  the  envious,  and 
we  will  not  sketch  his  least  feature.  The  species  is  as 
well  known  as  that  of  the  domestic  cat.  How  is  the  per- 
petuity of  envy  to  be  explained  ! A vice  which  is  wholly 
unprofitable  ! 

People  of  fashion,  literary  people,  very  good  people,  and 
people  of  every  kind  were,  in  the  month  of  January,  1824, 
giving  out  so  many  different  opinions  on  Madame  Firmiani 
that  it  would  be  tiresome  to  report  them  all.  We  have  only 
aimed  at  showing  that  a man  wishing  to  know  her,  without 
choosing,  or  being  able,  to  go  to  her  house,  would  have  been 
equally  justified  in  the  belief  that  she  was  a widow  or  a wife — 
silly  or  witty,  virtuous  or  immoral,  rich  or  poor,  gentle  or 
devoid  of  soul,  handsome  or  ugly;  in  fact,  there  were  as 
many  Mesdames  Firmiani  as  there  are  varieties  in  social  life, 
or  sects  in  the  Catholic  Church.  Frightful  thought ! We 
are  all  like  lithographed  plates,  of  which  an  endless  num- 
ber of  copies  are  taken  off  by  slander.  These  copies 
resemble  or  differ  from  the  original  by  touches  so  impercepti- 
bly slight  that,  but  for  the  calumnies  of  our  friends  and  the 


264 


MADAME  FIRMIANI. 


witticisms  of  newspapers,  reputation  would  depend  on  the 
balance  struck  by  each  hearer  between  the  limping  truth  and 
the  lies  to  which  Parisian  wit  lends  wings. 

Madame  Firmiani,  like  many  other  women  of  dignity  and 
noble  pride,  who  close  their  hearts  as  a sanctuary  and  scorn 
the  world,  might  have  been  very  hardly  judged  by  Monsieur 
de  Bourbonne,  an  old  gentleman  of  fortune,  who  had  thought 
a good  deal  about  her  during  the  past  winter.  As  it  hap- 
pened, this  gentleman  belonged  to  the  Provincial  land-owner 
class,  folks  who  are  accustomed  to  inquire  into  everything, 
and  to  make  bargains  with  peasants.  In  this  business  a man 
grows  keen-witted  in  spite  of  himself,  as  a soldier,  in  the 
long  run,  acquires  the  courage  of  routine.  This  inquirer, 
a native  of  Touraine,  and  not  easily  satisfied  by  the  Paris 
dialects,  was  a very  honorable  gentleman  who  rejoiced  in  a 
nephew,  his  sole  heir,  for  whom  he  planted  his  poplars. 
Their  more  than  natural  affection  gave  rise  to  much  evil- 
speaking, which  individuals  of  the  various  species  of  Tour- 
angeau  formulated  with  much  mother  wit ; but  it  would  be 
useless  to  record  it ; it  would  pale  before  that  of  Parisian 
tongues.  When  a man  can  think  of  his  heir  without  dis- 
pleasure, as  he  sees  fine  rows  of  poplars  improving  every  day, 
his  affection  increases  with  each  spadeful  of  earth  he  turns  at 
the  foot  of  his  trees.  Though  such  phenomena  of  sensibility 
may  be  uncommon,  they  still  are  to  be  met  with  in  Touraine. 

This  much-loved  nephew,  whose  name  was  Octave  de  Camps, 
was  descended  from  the  famous  Abbe  de  Camps,  so  well  known 
to  the  learned,  or  to  the  bibliomaniacs,  which  is  not  the  same 
thing. 

Provincial  folks  have  a disagreeable  habit  of  regarding 
young  men  who  sell  their  reversions  with  a sort  of  respectable 
horror.  This  Gothic  prejudice  is  bad  for  speculation,  which 
the  government  has  hitherto  found  it  necessary  to  encourage. 
Now,  without  consulting  his  uncle,  Octave  had  on  a sudden 
disposed  of  an  estate  in  favor  of  the  speculative  builders.  The 


MADAME  FIRMIANI. 


265 


chateau  of  Villaines  would  have  been  demolished  but  for  the 
offers  made  by  his  old  uncle  to  the  representatives  of  the  de- 
molishing fraternity.  To  add  to  the  testator’s  wrath,  a friend 
of  Octave’s,  a distant  relation,  one  of  those  cousins  with  small 
wealth  and  great  cunning,  who  lead  their  prudent  neighbors 
to  say,  “ I should  not  like  to  go  to  law  with  him  ! ” had 
called,  by  chance,  on  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne  and  informed 
him  that  his  nephew  was  ruined.  Monsieur  Octave  de  Camps, 
after  dissipating  his  fortune  for  a certain  Madame  Firmiani, 
and  not  daring  to  confess  his  sins,  had  been  reduced  to  giving 
lessons  in  mathematics,  pending  his  coming  into  his  uncle’s 
leavings.  This  distant  cousin — a sort  of  Charles  Moor — had 
not  been  ashamed  of  giving  this  disastrous  news  to  the  old 
country  gentleman  at  the  hour  when,  sitting  before  his  spacious 
hearth,  he  was  digesting  a copious  provincial  dinner.  But 
would-be  legatees  do  not  get  rid  of  an  uncle  so  easily  as  they 
could  wish.  This  uncle,  thanks  to  his  obstinacy,  refusing  to 
believe  the  distant  cousin,  came  out  victorious  over  the  in- 
digestion brought  on  by  the  biography  of  his  nephew.  Some 
blows  fall  on  the  heart,  others  on  the  brain ; the  blow  struck 
by  the  distant  cousin  fell  on  the  stomach,  and  produced  little 
effect,  as  the  good  man  had  a strong  one. 

Monsieur  de  Bourbonne,  as  a worthy  disciple  of  Saint 
Thomas,  came  to  Paris  without  telling  Octave,  and  tried  to 
get  information  as  to  his  heir’s  insolvency.  The  old  gentle- 
man, who  had  friends  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain — the 
Listomeres,  the  Lenoncourts,  and  the  Vandenesses — heard  so 
much  slander,  so  much  that  was  true,  and  so  much  that  was 
false  concerning  Madame  Firmiani,  that  he  determined  to  call 
on  her,  under  the  name  of  Monsieur  de  Rouxellay,  the  name 
of  his  place.  The  prudent  old  man  took  care,  in  going  to 
study  Octave’s  mistress — as  she  was  said  to  be — to  choose  an 
evening  when  he  knew  that  the  young  man  was  engaged  on 
work  to  be  well  paid  for ; for  Madame  Firmiani  was  always  at 
home  to  her  young  friend,  a circumstance  that  no  one  could 


266 


MADAME  FIR  MIAN!. 


account  for.  As  to  Octave’s  ruin,  that,  unfortunately,  was 
no  fiction. 

Monsieur  de  Rouxellay  was  not  at  all  like  a stage  uncle. 
As  an  old  musketeer,  a man  of  the  best  society,  who  had  his 
successes  in  his  day,  he  knew  how  to  introduce  himself  with  a 
courtly  air,  remembered  the  polished  manners  of  the  past,  had 
a pretty  wit,  and  understood  almost  all  the  role  of  nobility. 
Though  he  loved  the  Bourbons  with  noble  frankness,  believed 
in  God  as  gentlemen  believe,  and  read  only  the  Quotidienne , 
he  was  by  no  means  so  ridiculous  as  the  Liberals  of  his  depart- 
ment would  have  wished.  He  could  hold  his  own  with  men 
about  the  court,  so  long  as  he  was  not  expected  to  talk  of 
“ Moses,”  or  the  play,  or  romanticism,  or  local  color,  or  rail- 
ways. He  had  not  gotten  beyond  Monsieur  de  Voltaire,  Mon- 
sieur le  Comte  de  Buffon,  Peyronnet,  and  the  Chevalier 
Gluck,  the  Queen’s  private  musician. 

“ Madame,”  said  he  to  the  Marquise  de  Listomere,  to 
whom  he  had  given  his  arm  to  go  into  Madame  Firmiani’s 
room,  “ if  this  woman  is  my  nephew’s  mistress,  I pity  her. 
How  can  she  bear  to  live  in  the  midst  of  luxury  and  know 
that  he  is  in  a garret?  Has  she  no  soul?  Octave  is  a fool  to 
have  invested  the  price  of  the  estate  of  Villaines  in  the  heart 
of  a ” 

Monsieur  de  Bourbonne  was  of  a fossil  species,  and  spoke 
only  the  language  of  a past  day. 

“ But  suppose  he  had  lost  it  at  play?  ” 

“ Well,  madame,  he  would  have  had  the  pleasure  of 
playing.” 

“ You  think  he  has  had  no  pleasure  for  his  money  ? Look, 
here  is  Madame  Firmiani.” 

The  old  uncle’s  brightest  memories  paled  at  the  sight  of 
his  nephew’s  supposed  mistress.  His  anger  died  in  a polite 
speech  wrung  from  him  by  the  presence  of  Madame  Firmiani. 
By  one  of  those  chances  which  come  only  to  pretty  women, 
jt  was  a moment  when  all  her  beauties  shone  with  particular 


MADAME  FIRMIANI. 


267 


brilliancy,  the  result,  perhaps,  of  the  glitter  of  wax-lights,  of 
an  exquisitely  simple  dress,  of  an  indefinable  reflection  from 
the  elegance  in  which  she  lived  and  moved.  Only  long  study 
of  the  petty  revolutions  of  an  evening  party  in  a Paris  salon 
can  enable  one  to  appreciate  the  imperceptible  shades  that 
can  tinge  and  change  a woman’s  face.  There  are  moments 
when,  pleased  with  her  dress,  feeling  herself  brilliant,  happy 
at  being  admired  and  seeing  herself  the  queen  of  a room  full 
of  remarkable  men,  all  smiling  at  her,  a Parisian  is  conscious 
of  her  beauty  and  grace  ; she  grows  the  lovelier  by  all  the 
looks  she  meets ; they  give  her  animation,  but  their  mute 
homage  is  transmitted  by  subtle  glances  to  the  man  she  loves. 
In  such  a moment  a woman  is  invested,  as  it  were,  with  super- 
natural power,  and  becomes  a witch,  an  unconscious  coquette ; 
she  involuntarily  inspires  the  passion  which  is  a secret  intoxi- 
cation to  herself,  she  has  smiles  and  looks  that  are  fascinating. 
If  this  excitement  which  comes  from  the  soul  lends  attractive- 
ness even  to  ugly  women,  with  what  splendor  does  it  not 
clothe  a naturally  elegant  creature,  finely  made,  fair,  fresh, 
bright-eyed,  and,  above  all,  dressed  with  such  taste  as  artists 
and  even  her  most  spiteful  rivals  must  admit. 

Have  you  ever  met,  for  your  happiness,  some  woman  whose 
harmonious  tones  give  to  her  speech  the  charm  that  is  no  less 
conspicuous  in  her  manners,  who  knows  how  to  talk  and  to 
be  silent,  who  cares  for  you  with  delicate  feeling,  whose  words 
are  happily  chosen  and  her  language  pure  ? Her  banter  flat- 
ters you,  her  criticism  does  not  sting  ; she  neither  preaches 
nor  disputes,  but  is  interested  in  leading  a discussion,  and 
stops  it  at  the  right  moment.  Her  manner  is  friendly  and 
gay,  her  politeness  is  unforced,  her  eagerness  to  please  is  not 
servile ; she  reduces  respect  to  a mere  gentle  shade ; she  never 
tires  you,  and  leaves  you  satisfied  with  her  and  yourself.  You 
will  see  her  gracious  presence  stamped  on  the  things  she  col- 
lects about  her.  In  her  home  everything  charms  the  eye,  and 
you  breathe,  as  it  seems,  your  native  air.  This  woman  is 


268 


MADAME  FIRMIANI. 


quite  natural.  You  never  feel  an  effort,  she  flaunts  nothing, 
her  feelings  are  expressed  with  simplicity  because  they  are 
genuine.  Though  candid,  she  never  wounds  the  most  sensi- 
tive pride  ; she  accepts  men  as  God  made  them,  pitying  the 
vicious,  forgiving  defects  and  absurdities,  sympathizing  with 
every  age,  and  vexed  with  nothing  because  she  has  the  tact  t.o 
forefend  everything.  At  once  tender  and  lively,  she  first 
constrains  and  then  consoles  you.  You  love  her  so  truly  that, 
if  this  angel  does  wrong,  you  are  ready  to  justify  her.  Then 
you  know  Madame  Firmiani. 

By  the  time  old  Bourbonne  had  talked  with  this  woman,  for 
a quarter  of  an  hour,  sitting  by  her  side,  his  nephew  was  ab- 
solved. He  understood  that,  true  or  false*  Octave’s  connection 
with  Madame  Firmiani  no  doubt  covered  some  mystery.  Re- 
turning to  the  illusions  of  his  youth,  and  judging  of  Madame 
Firmiani’s  heart  by  her  beauty,  the  old  gentleman  thought 
that  a woman  so  sure  of  her  dignity  as  she  seemed,  was  inca- 
pable of  a base  action.  Her  black  eyes  spoke  of  so  much 
peace  of  mind,  the  lines  of  her  face  were  so  noble,  the  forms 
so  pure,  and  the  passion  of  which  she  was  accused  seemed  to 
weigh  so  little  on  her  heart,  that,  as  he  admired  all  the  pledges 
given  to  love  and  to  virtue  by  that  adorable  countenance,  the 
old  man  said  to  himself,  “ My  nephew  has  committed  some 
folly.” 

Madame  Firmiani  owned  to  twenty-five.  But  the  matter- 
of-facts  could  prove  that,  having  been  married  in  1813  at  the 
age  of  sixteen,  she  must  be  at  least  eight-and-twenty  in  1825. 
Nevertheless  the  same  persons  declared  that  she  had  never  at 
any  period  of  her  life  been  so  desirable,  so  perfectly  a woman. 
She  had  no  children,  and  had  never  had  any;  the  hypothet- 
ical Firmiani,  a respectable  man  of  forty  in  1813,  had,  it  was 
said,  only  his  name  and  fortune  to  offer  her.  So  Madame 
Firmiani  had  come  to  the  age  when  a Parisian  best  under- 
stands what  passion  is,  and  perhaps  longs  for  it  innocently  in 
her  unemployed  hours:  she  had  everything  that  the  world  can 


MADAME  FIRMIANI. 


269 


sell,  or  lend,  or  give.  The  attaches  declared  she  knew  every- 
thing; the  contradictories  said  she  had  yet  many  things  to 
learn ; the  observers  noticed  that  her  hands  were  very  white, 
her  foot  very  small,  her  movements  a little  too  undulating ; 
but  men  of  every  species  envied  or  disputed  Octave’s  good 
fortune,  agreeing  that  she  was  the  most  aristocratic  beauty  in 
Paris. 

Still  young,  rich,  a perfect  musician,  witty,  exquisite ; 
welcomed,  for  the  sake  of  the  Cadignans,  to  whom  she  was 
related  through  her  mother,  by  the  Princess  de  Blamont- 
Chauvry,  the  oracle  of  the  aristocratic  quarter ; beloved  by 
her  rivals  the  Duchesse  de  Maufrigneuse  her  cousin,  the 
Marquise  d’Espard,  and  Madame  de  Macumer,  she  flattered 
every  vanity  which  feeds  or  excites  love.  And,  indeed,  she 
was  the  object  of  too  many  desires  not  to  be  the  victim  of 
fashionable  detraction  and  those  delightful  calumnies  which 
are  wittily  hinted  behind  a fan  or  in  a whispered  aside. 
Hence  the  remarks  with  which  this  story  opened  were  neces- 
sary to  mark  the  contrast  between  the  real  Firmiani  and  the 
Firmiani  known  to  the  world.  Though  some  women  forgave 
her  for  being  happy,  others  could  not  overlook  her  respecta- 
bility ; now  there  is  nothing  so  terrible,  especially  in  Paris, 
as  suspicion  without  foundation  ; it  is  impossible  to  kill  it. 

This  sketch  of  a personality  so  admirable  by  nature  can 
only  give  a feeble  idea  of  it ; it  would  need  the  brush  of  an 
Ingres  to  represent  the  dignity  of  the  brow,  the  mass  of  fine 
hair,  the  majesty  of  the  eyes,  all  the  thoughts  betrayed  by  the 
varying  hues  of  the  complexion.  There  was  something  of 
everything  in  this  woman ; poets  could  see  in  her  both  Joan 
of  Arc  and  Agnes  Sorel ; but  there  was  also  the  unknown 
woman — the  soul  hidden  behind  this  deceptive  mask — the 
soul  of  Eve,  the  wealth  of  evil  and  treasures  of  goodness, 
wrong  and  resignation,  crime  and  self-sacrifice — the  Dona 
Julia  and  Haidee  of  Byron’s  “ Don  Juan.” 

The  old  soldier  very  boldly  remained  till  the  last  in  Madame 


270 


MADAME  FIRM/AN/. 


Firmiani’s  drawing-room ; she  found  him  quietly  seated  in  an 
armchair,  and  staying  with  the  pertinacity  of  a fly  that  must 
be  killed  to  be  gotten  rid  of.  The  clock  marked  two  in  the 
morning. 

“ Madame,”  said  the  old  gentleman,  just  as  Madame  Fir- 
miani  rose  in  the  hope  of  making  her  guest  understand  that  it 
was  her  pleasure  that  he  should  go.  “ Madame,  I am  Monsieur 
Octave  de  Camps’  uncle.” 

Madame  Firmiani  at  once  sat  down  again,  and  her  agitation 
was  evident.  In  spite  of  his  perspicacity,  the  planter  of 
poplars  could  not  make  up  his  mind  whether  shame  or  pleasure 
made  her  turn  pale.  There  are  pleasures  which  do  not  exist 
without  a little  coy  bashfulness — delightful  emotions  which 
the  chastest  soul  would  fain  keep  behind  a veil.  The  more 
sensitive  a woman  is,  the  more  she  lives  to  conceal  her  soul’s 
greatest  joys.  Many  women,  incomprehensible  in  their 
exquisite  caprices,  at  times  long  to  hear  a name  spoken  by  all 
the  world,  while  they  sometimes  would  sooner  bury  it  in  their 
hearts.  Old  Bourbonne  did  not  read  Madame  Firmiani’s 
agitation  quite  in  this  light ; but  forgive  him;  the  country 
gentleman  was  suspicious. 

“ Indeed,  monsieur?”  said  Madame  Firmiani,  with  one 
of  those  clear  and  piercing  looks  in  which  we  men  can  never 
see  anything,  because  they  question  us  too  keenly. 

“Indeed,  madame  ; and  do  you  know  what  I have  been 
told — I,  in  the  depths  of  the  country?  That  my  nephew  has 
ruined  himself  for  you  ; and  the  unhappy  boy  is  in  a garret 
while  you  live  here  in  gold  and  silks.  You  will,  I hope, 
forgive  my  rustic  frankness,  for  it  may  be  useful  to  you  to  be 
informed  of  the  slander.” 

“ Stop,  monsieur,”  said  Madame  Firmiani,  interrupting  the 
gentleman  with  an  imperious  gesture,  “ I know  all  that.  You 
are  too  polite  to  keep  the  conversation  to  this  subject  when  I 
beg  you  to  change  it.  You  are  too  gallant,  in  the  old-fashioned 
sense  of  the  word,”  she  added,  with  a slightly  ironical 


MADAME  FIRMIANI. 


271 


emphasis,  “ not  to  acknowledge  that  you  have  no  right  to 
cross-question  me.  However,  it  is  ridiculous  in  me  to  justify 
myself.  I hope  you  have  a good  enough  opinion  of  my  char- 
acter to  believe  in  the  utter  contempt  I feel  for  money,  though 
I was  married  without  any  fortune  whatever  to  a man  who  had 
an  immense  fortune.  I do  not  know  whether  your  nephew  is 
rich  or  poor;  if  I have  received  him,  if  I still  receive  him, 
it  is  because  I regard  him  as  worthy  to  move  in  the  midst  of 
my  friends.  All  my  friends,  monsieur,  respect  each  other ; 
they  know  that  I am  not  so  philosophical  as  to  entertain  people 
whom  I do  not  esteem.  That,  perhaps,  shows  a lack  of 
charity;  but  my  guardian  angel  has  preserved  in  me,  to  this 
day,  an  intense  aversion  for  gossip  and  dishonor.” 

Though  her  voice  was  not  quite  firm  at  the  beginning  of 
this  reply,  the  last  words  were  spoken  by  Madame  Firmiani 
with  the  cool  decision  of  Celimene  rallying  the  Misanthrope. 

“Madame,”  the  Count  resumed  in  a broken  voice,  “I  am 
an  old  man — I am  almost  a father  to  Octave — I therefore  must 
humbly  crave  your  pardon  beforehand  for  the  only  question  I 
shall  be  so  bold  as  to  ask  you  ; and  I give  you  my  word  of 
honor  as  a gentleman  that  your  reply  will  die  here,”  and  he 
laid  his  hand  on  his  heart  with  a really  religious  gesture. 
“ Does  gossip  speak  the  truth  ; do  you  love  Octave  ? ” 

“Monsieur,”  said  she,  “ I should  answer  any  one  else  with 
a look.  But  you,  since  you  are  almost  a father  to  Monsieur 
de  Camps,  you  I will  ask  what  you  would  think  of  a woman 
who,  in  reply  to  your  question,  should  say,  Yes.  To  confess 
one’s  love  to  the  man  we  love — when  he  loves  us — well,  well ; 
when  we  are  sure  of  being  loved  for  ever,  believe  me,  mon- 
sieur, it  is  an  effort  to  us  and  a reward  to  him ; but  to  any 
one  else  ! ” 

Madame  Firmiani  did  not  finish  her  sentence;  she  rose, 
bowed  to  the  good  gentleman,  and  vanished  into  her  private 
rooms,  where  the  sound  of  doors  opened  and  shut  in  succes- 
sion had  language  to  the  ears  of  the  poplar  planter. 


272 


MADAME  FIRMIANI. 


“ Damn  it  ! ” said  he  to  himself,  “ what  a woman  ! She  is 
either  a very  cunning  hussy  or  an  angel ; ” and  he  went  down 
to  his  hired  fly  in  the  courtyard,  where  the  horses  were  pawing 
the  pavement  in  the  silence.  The  coachman  was  asleep,  after 
having  cursed  his  customer  a hundred  times. 

Next  morning,  by  about  eight  o’clock,  the  old  gentleman 
was  mounting  the  stairs  of  a house  in  the  Rue  de  l’Observance, 
where  dwelt  Octave  de  Camps.  If  there  was  in  this  world  a 
man  amazed,  it  was  the  young  professor  on  seeing  his  uncle. 
The  key  was  in  the  door,  Octave’s  lamp  was  still  burning;  he 
had  sat  up  all  night. 

“Now,  you  rascal,”  said  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne,  seating 
himself  in  an  armchair.  “ How  long  has  it  been  the  fashion 
to  make  fools  (speaking  mildly)  of  uncles  who  have  twenty- 
six  thousand  francs  a year  in  good  land  in  Touraine?  and  that 
when  you  are  sole  heir?  Do  you  know  that  formerly  such 
relations  were  treated  with  respect  ? Pray,  have  you  any  fault 
to  find  with  me  ? Have  I bungled  my  business  as  an  uncle  ? 
Have  I demanded  your  respect?  Have  I ever  refused  you 
money?  Have  I shut  my  door  in  your  face,  saying  you  had 
only  come  to  see  how  I was?  Have  you  not  the  most  accom- 
modating, the  least  exacting  uncle  in  France? — I will  not  say 
in  Europe,  it  would  be  claiming  too  much.  You  write  to  me, 
or  you  don’t  write.  I live  on  your  professions  of  affection. 
I am  laying  out  the  prettiest  estate  in  the  neighborhood,  a place 
that  is  the  object  of  envy  in  all  the  department ; but  I do  not 
mean  to  leave  it  you  till  the  latest  date  possible — a weak- 
ness that  is  very  pardonable.  And  my  gentleman  sells  his 
property,  is  lodged  like  a groom,  has  no  servants,  keeps  no 
style ” 

“ My  dear  uncle ” 

“It  is  not  a case  of  uncle,  but  of  nephew.  I have  a right 
to  your  confidence ; so  have  it  out  all  at  once  ; it  is  the  easiest 
way,  I know  by  experience.  Have  you  been  gambling? 
Have  you  been  speculating  on  the  Bourse?  Come,  say, 


MADAME  FIR  MIA  NI. 


273 


‘ Uncle,  I am  a wretch,’  and  we  kiss  and  are  friends.  But  if 
you  tell  me  any  lie  bigger  than  those  I told  at  your  age,  I will 
sell  my  property,  buy  an  annuity,  and  go  back  to  the  bad  ways 
of  my  youth,  if  it  is  not  too  late.” 

“ Uncle ” 

“ I went  last  night  to  see  your  Madame  Firmiani,”  said  the 
uncle,  kissing  the  tips  of  all  his  fingers  together.  “She  is 
charming,”  he  went  on.  “ You  have  the  King’s  warrant  and 
approval,  and  your  uncle’s  consent,  if  that  is  any  satisfaction 
to  you.  As  to  the  sanction  of  the  church,  that  I suppose  is 
unnecessary — the  sacraments,  no  doubt,  are  too  costly.  Come ; 
speak  out.  Is  it  for  her  that  you  have  ruined  yourself?  ” 

“ Yes,  uncle.” 

“ Ah  ! the  hussy  1 I would  have  bet  upon  it.  In  my  day  a 
woman  of  fashion  could  ruin  a man  more  cleverly  than  any 
of  your  courtesans  of  to-day.  I saw  in  her  a resuscitation  of 
the  last  century.” 

“ Uncle,”  said  Octave,  in  a voice  that  was  at  once  sad  and 
gentle,  “ you  are  under  a mistake.  Madame  Firmiani  de- 
serves your  esteem,  and  all  the  adoration  of  her  admirers.” 

“ So  hapless  youth  is  always  the  same  ! ” said  Monsieur  de 
Bourbonne.  “Well,  well  ! go  on  in  your  own  way;  tell  me 
all  the  old  stories  once  more.  At  the  same  time,  you  know, 
I dare  say,  that  I am  no  chicken  in  such  matters.” 

“ My  dear  uncle,  here  is  a letter  which  will  explain  every- 
thing,” replied  Octave,  taking  out  an  elegant  letter-case — her 
gift,  no  doubt.  “ When  you  have  read  it  I will  tell  you  the 
rest,  and  you  will  know  Madame  Firmiani  as  the  world  knows 
her  not.” 

“I  have  not  my  spectacles  with  me,”  said  his  uncle. 
“ Read  it  to  me.” 

Octave  began  : “ ‘ My  dear  love ’ ” 

“ Then  you  are  very  intimate  with  this  woman?  ” 

“Why,  yes,  uncle.” 

“ And  you  have  not  quarreled  ? ” 

18 


274 


MADAME  FIRMJANI. 


“Quarreled!”  echoed  Octave  in  surprise.  “We  are 
married — at  Gretna  Green.” 

“ Well,  then,  why  do  you  dine  for  forty  sous  ? ” 

“ Let  me  proceed.” 

“Very  true.  I am  listening.” 

Octave  took  up  the  letter  again,  and  could  not  read  certain 
passages  without  strong  emotion. 

“ 4 My  beloved  husband,  you  ask  me  the  reason  of  my 
melancholy.  Has  it  passed  from  my  soul  into  my  face,  or 
have  you  only  guessed  it?  And  why  should  you  not?  Our 
hearts  are  so  closely  united.  Besides,  I cannot  lie,  though 
that  perhaps  is  a misfortune.  One  of  the  conditions  of  being 
loved  is,  in  a woman,  to  be  always  caressing  and  gay.  Per- 
haps I ought  to  deceive  you ; but  I would  not  do  so,  not 
even  if  it  were  to  increase  or  to  preserve  the  happiness  you 
give  me — you  lavish  on  me — under  which  you  overwhelm  me. 
Oh,  my  dear,  my  love  carries  with  it  so  much  gratitude ! 
And  I must  love  for  ever,  without  measure.  Yes,  I must 
always  be  proud  of  you.  Our  glory — a woman’s  glory — is  all 
in  the  man  she  loves.  Esteem,  consideration,  honor,  are 
they  not  all  his  who  has  conquered  everything?  Well,  and 
my  angel  has  fallen.  Yes,  my  dear,  your  last  confession  has 
dimmed  my  past  happiness.  From  that  moment  I have  felt 
myself  humbled  through  you — you,  whom  I believed  to  be 
the  purest  of  men,  as  you  are  the  tenderest  and  most  loving. 
I must  have  supreme  confidence  in  your  still  childlike  heart  to 
make  an  avowal  which  costs  me  so  dear.  What,  poor  darling, 
your  father  stole  his  fortune,  and  you  know  it,  and  you  keep 
it ! And  you  could  tell  me  of  this  attorney’s  triumph  in  a 
room  full  of  the  dumb  witnesses  of  our  love,  and  you  are  a 
gentleman,  and  you  think  yourself  noble,  and  I am  yours, 
and  you  are  two-and-twenty  ! How  monstrous  all  through  ! 

“ ‘ I have  sought  excuses  for  you ; I have  ascribed  your 
indifference  to  your  giddy  youth ; I know  there  is  still  much 
of  the  child  in  you.  Perhaps  you  have  never  yet  thought 


MADAME  F/R MIAMI. 


275 


seriously  of  what  is  meant  by  wealth,  and  by  honesty.  Oh, 
your  laughter  hurt  me  so  much  ! Only  think,  there  is  a 
family,  ruined,  always  in  grief,  girls  perhaps,  who  curse  you 
day  by  day,  an  old  man  who  says  to  himself  every  night,  “I 
should  not  lack  bread  if  Monsieur  de  Camps’  father  had  only 
been  an  honest  man.”  ’ ” 

“ What  ! ” exclaimed  Monsieur  de  Bourbonne,  interrupting 
him,  “ were  you  such  an  idiot  as  to  tell  that  woman  the  story 
of  your  father’s  affair  with  the  Bourgneufs  ? Women  better 
understood  spending  a fortune  than  making  one ” 

“ They  understand  honesty.  Let  me  go  on,  uncle  ! 

“ 1 Octave,  no  power  on  earth  is  authorized  to  garble  the 
language  of  honor.  Look  into  your  conscience,  and  ask  it  by 
what  name  to  call  the  action  to  which  you  owe  your  riches.’  ” 

And  the  nephew  looked  at  his  uncle,  who  bent  his  head. 

“ ‘ I will  not  tell  you  all  the  thoughts  that  beset  me  ; they 
can  all  be  reduced  to  one,  which  is  this : I cannot  esteem  a 
man  who  knowingly  soils  himself  for  a sum  of  money  whether 
large  or  small.  Five  francs  stolen  at  play,  or  six  times  a 
hundred  thousand  francs  obtained  by  legal  trickery,  disgrace 
a man  equally.  I must  tell  you  all : I feel  myself  sullied  by  a 
love  which  till  now  was  all  my  joy.  From  the  bottom  of  my 
soul  there  comes  a voice  I cannot  stifle.  I have  wept  to  find 
that  my  conscience  is  stronger  than  my  love.  You  might 
commit  a crime,  and  I would  hide  you  in  my  bosom  from 
human  justice  if  I could  ; but  my  devotion  would  go  no 
farther.  Love,  my  dearest,  is,  in  a woman,  the  most  un- 
limited confidence,  joined  to  I know  not  what  craving  to 
reverence  and  adore  the  being  to  whom  she  belongs.  I have 
never  conceived  of  love  but  as  a fire  in  which  the  noblest 
feelings  were  yet  further  purified — a fire  which  develops  them 
to  the  utmost. 

“ ‘ I have  but  one  thing  more  to  say:  Come  to  me  poor, 
and  I shall  love  you  twice  as  much  if  possible ; if  not,  give 
me  up.  If  I see  you  no  more,  I know  what  is  left  to  me  to  do. 


276 


MADAME  FIRMIANI. 


“ 1 But,  now,  understand  me  clearly,  I will  not  have  you 
make  restitution  because  I desire  it.  Consult  your  conscience. 
This  is  an  act  of  justice,  and  must  not  be  done  as  a sacrifice 
to  love.  I am  your  wife,  and  not  your  mistress ; the  point  is 
not  to  please  me,  but  to  inspire  me  with  the  highest  esteem. 
If  I have  misunderstood,  if  you  have  not  clearly  explained 
your  father’s  action,  in  short,  if  you  can  regard  your  fortune 
as  legitimately  acquired — and  how  gladly  would  I persuade 
myself  that  you  deserve  no  blame — decide  as  the  voice  of 
conscience  dictates ; act  wholly  for  yourself.  A man  who 
truly  loves,  as  you  love  me,  has  too  high  a respect  for  all  the 
holy  inspiration  he  may  get  from  his  wife  to  be  dishonorable. 

“ * 1 blame  myself  now  for  all  I have  written.  A word 
would  perhaps  have  been  enough,  and  my  preaching  instinct 
has  carried  me  away.  So  I should  like  to  be  scolded — not 
much,  but  a little.  My  dear,  between  you  and  me,  are  not 
you  the  power?  You  only  should  detect  your  own  faults. 
Well,  master  mine,  can  you  say  I understand  nothing  about 
political  discussion  ? ’ 

“ Well,  uncle?  ” said  Octave,  whose  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

“ I see  more  writing,  finish  it.” 

“ Oh,  there  is  nothing  further  but  such  things  as  only  a 
lover  may  read.” 

“Very  good,”  said  the  old  man.  “Very  good,  my  dear 
boy.  I was  popular  with  the  women  in  my  day;  but  I would 
have  you  to  believe  that  I too  have  loved  ; et  ego  in  Arcadia. 
Still,  I cannot  imagine  why  you  give  lessons  in  mathematics.” 

“ My  dear  uncle,  I am  your  nephew.  Is  not  that  as  much 
as  to  say  that  I have  made  some  inroads  on  the  fortune  left  to 
me  by  my  father?  After  reading  that  letter  a complete  revo- 
lution took  place  in  me,  in  one  instant  I paid  up  the  arrears 
of  remorse.  I could  never  describe  to  you  the  state  in  which 
I was.  As  I drove  my  cab  to  the  Bois  a voice  cried  to  me, 
* Is  that  horse  yours  ? ’ As  I ate  my  dinner,  I said  to  my- 
self, * Have  you  not  stolen  the  food  ? ’ I was  ashamed  of 


MADAME  FIRMIANI. 


277 


myself.  My  honesty  was  ardent  in  proportion  to  its  youth. 
First  I flew  off  to  Madame  Firmiani.  Ah,  my  dear  uncle, 
that  day  I had  such  joys  of  heart,  such  raptures  of  soul  as  were 
worth  millions.  With  her  I calculated  how  much  I owed  the 
Bourgneuf  family ; and  I sentenced  myself,  against  Madame 
Firmiani’s  advice,  to  pay  them  interest  at  the  rate  of  three  per 
cent.  But  my  whole  fortune  was  not  enough  to  refund  the 
sum.  We  were  both  of  us  lovers  enough — husband  and  wife 
enough — for  her  to  offer  and  for  me  to  accept  her  savings ” 

“What,  besides  all  her  virtues,  that  adorable  woman  can 
save  money  ! ” cried  the  uncle. 

“ Do  not  laugh  at  her.  Her  position  compels  her  to  some 
thrift.  Her  husband  went  to  Greece  in  1820,  and  died  about 
three  years  ago ; but  to  this  day  it  has  been  impossible  to  get 
legal  proof  of  his  death,  or  to  lay  hands  on  the  will  he  no 
doubt  made  in  favor  of  his  wife;  this  important  document  was 
stolen,  lost,  or  mislaid  in  a country  where  a man’s  papers  are 
not  kept  as  they  are  in  France,  nor  is  there  a consul.  So, 
not  knowing  whether  she  may  not  some  day  have  to  reckon 
with  other  and  malignant  heirs,  she  is  obliged  to  be  extremely 
careful,  for  she  does  not  wish  to  have  to  give  up  her  wealth  as 
Chateaubriand  has  just  given  up  the  ministry.  Now  I mean 
to  earn  a fortune  that  shall  be  mine,  so  as  to  restore  my  wife 
to  opulence  if  she  should  be  ruined.” 

“ And  you  never  told  me — you  never  came  to  me.  My 
dear  nephew,  believe  me  I love  you  well  enough  to  pay  your 
honest  debts,  your  debts  as.a  gentleman.  I am  the  uncle  of 
the  fifth  act — I will  be  revenged.” 

“I  know  your  revenges,  uncle;  but  let  me  grow  rich  by 
my  own  toil.  If  you  wish  to  befriend  me,  allow  me  a thousand 
crowns  a year  until  I need  capital  for  some  business.  I declare 
at  this  moment  I am  so  happy  that  all  I care  about  is  to  live. 
I give  lessons  that  I may  be  no  burden  on  any  one. 

“Ah,  if  you  could  but  know  with  what  delight  I made 
restitution.  After  making  some  inquiries  I found  the  Bourg- 


278 


MADAME  FIRM1ANI. 


neufs  in  misery  and  destitution.  They  were  living  at  Saint- 
Germain  in  a wretched  house.  The  old  father  was  manager 
in  a lottery  office ; the  two  girls  did  the  work  of  the  house 
and  kept  the  accounts.  The  mother  was  almost  always  ill. 
The  two  girls  are  charming,  but  they  have  learned  by  bitter 
experience  how  little  the  world  cares  for  beauty  without  for- 
tune. What  a picture  did  I find  there  ! If  I went  to  the 
house  as  the  accomplice  in  a crime,  I came  out  of  it  an  honest 
man,  and  I have  purged  my  father’s  memory.  I do  not  judge 
him,  uncle  ; there  is  in  a lawsuit  an  eagerness,  a passion  which 
may  sometimes  blind  the  most  honest  man  alive.  Lawyers 
know  howto  legitimize  the  most  preposterous  claims;  there 
are  syllogisms  in  law  to  humor  the  errors  of  conscience,  and 
judges  have  a right  to  mistakes.  My  adventure  was  a 
perfect  drama.  To  have  played  the  part  of  Providence,  to 
have  fulfilled  one  of  these  hopeless  wishes  : ‘ If  only  twenty 
thousand  francs  a year  could  drop  from  heaven  ! ’ — a wish  we 
all  have  uttered  in  jest ; to  see  a sublime  look  of  gratitude, 
amazement  and  admiration  take  the  place  of  a glance  fraught 
with  curses ; to  bring  opulence  into  the  midst  of  a family 
sitting  round  a turf-fire  in  the  evening,  by  the  light  of  a 
wretched  lamp.  No  words  can  paint  such  a scene.  My 
excessive  justice  to  them  seemed  unjust.  Well,  if  there  be  a 
paradise,  my  father  must  now  be  happy.  As  for  myself,  I am 
loved  as  man  was  never  loved  before.  Madame  Firmiani  has 
given  me  more  than  happiness  ; she  has  taught  me  a delicacy 
of  feeling  which  perhaps  I lacked.  Indeed,  I call  her  Dear 
Conscience,  one  of  those  loving  names  that  are  the  outcome 
of  certain  secret  harmonies  of  spirit.  Honesty  is  said  to  pay  ; 
I hope  ere  long  to  be  rich  myself;  at  this  moment  I am  bent 
on  solving  a great  industrial  problem,  and  if  I succeed  I shall 
make  millions.” 

“ My  boy,  you  have  your  mother’s  soul,”  said  the  old  man, 
hardly  able  to  restrain  the  tears  that  rose  at  the  remembrance 
of  his  sister. 


MADAME  FIRMIANI. 


279 


At  this  instant,  in  spite  of  the  height  above  the  ground  of 
Octave’s  room,  the  young  man  and  his  uncle  heard  the  noise 
of  a carriage  driving  up. 

“ It  is  she  ! I know  her  horses  by  the  way  they  pull  up.” 

And  it  was  not  long  before  Madame  Firmiani  made  her 
appearance. 

“ Oh  ! ” she  cried,  with  an  impulse  of  annoyance  on  seeing 
Monsieur  de  Bourbonne.  “ But  our  uncle  is  not  in  the  way,” 
she  went  on  with  a sudden  smile.  “ I have  come  to  kneel  at 
my  husband’s  feet  and  humbly  beseech  him  to  accept  my 
fortune.  I have  just  received  from  the  Austrian  embassy  a 
document  proving  Firmiani’s  death.  The  paper,  drawn  up 
by  the  kind  offices  of  the  Austrian  envoy  at  Constantinople, 
is  quite  formal,  and  the  will  which  Firmiani’s  valet  had  in 
keeping  for  me  is  subjoined.  There,  you  are  richer  than  I 
am,  for  you  have  there,”  and  she  tapped  her  husband’s  breast, 
‘ ‘ treasures  which  only  God  can  add  to.”  Then,  unable  to 
disguise  her  happiness,  she  hid  her  face  in  Octave’s  bosom. 

“My  sweet  niece,  we  made  love  when  I was  young,”  said 
the  uncle,  “but  now  you  love.  You  women  are  all  that  is 
good  and  lovely  in  humanity,  for  you  are  never  guilty  of  your 
faults  ; they  always  originate  with  us.” 

Paris,  February , 1831. 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN, 


{La  Femme  Abandonnee.') 

Translated  by  Ellen  Marriage. 

To  Her  Grace  the  Duchess e d'  Abr antes, 

Jrom  her  devoted  servant , 

Honore  de  Balzac. 


Paris,  August,  1835. 

In  the  early  spring  of  1822,  the  Paris  doctors  sent  to 
Lower  Nofmandy  a young  man  just  recovering  from  an 
inflammatory  complaint,  brought  on  by  overstudy,  or  perhaps 
by  excess  of  some  other  kind.  His  convalescence  demanded 
complete  rest,  a light  diet,  bracing  air,  and  freedom  from 
excitement  of  every  kind,  and  the  fat  lands  of  Bessin  seemed 
to  offer  all  these  conditions  of  recovery.  To  Bayeux,  a 
picturesque  place  about  six  miles  from  the  sea,  the  patient 
therefore  betook  himself,  and  was  received  with  the  cordiality 
characteristic  of  relatives  who  lead  very  retired  lives,  and 
regard  a new  arrival  as  a godsend. 

All  little  towns  are  alike,  save  for  a few  local  customs. 
When  M.  le  Baron  Gaston  de  Nueil,  the  young  Parisian  in 
question,  had  spent  two  or  three  evenings  in  his  cousin’s 
house,  or  with  the  friends  who  made  up  Mme.  de  Sainte- 
Severe’s  circle,  he  very  soon  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
persons  whom  this  exclusive  society  considered  to  be  “the 
whole  town.”  Gaston  de  Nueil  recognized  in  them  the  invar- 
iable stock  characters  which  every  observer  finds  in  every  one 
of  the  many  capitals  of  the  little  states  which  made  up  the 
France  of  an  older  day. 

First  of  all  comes  the  family  whose  claims  to  nobility  are 

(280) 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


281 


regarded  as  incontestable,  and  of  the  highest  antiquity  in  the 
department,  though  no  one  has  so  much  as  heard  of  them 
a bare  fifty  leagues  away.  This  species  of  royal  family  on 
a small  scale  is  distantly,  but  unmistakably,  connected  with 
the  Navarreins  and  the  Grandlieu  family,  and  related  to  the 
Cadignans,  and  the  Blamont-Chauvrys.  The  head  of  the 
illustrious  house  is  invariably  a determined  sportsman.  He 
has  no  manners,  crushes  everybody  else  with  his  nominal 
superiority,  tolerates  the  sub-prefect  much  as  he  submits  to  the 
taxes,  and  declines  to  acknowledge  any  of  the  novel  powers 
created  by  the  nineteenth  century,  pointing  out  to  you  as  a 
political  monstrosity  the  fact  that  the  prime  minister  is  a man 
of  no  birth.  His  wife  takes  a decided  tone,  and  talks  in  a 
loud  voice.  She  has  had  adorers  in  her  time,  but  takes  the 
sacrament  regularly  at  Easter.  She  brings  up  her  daughters 
badly,  and  is  of  the  opinion  that  they  will  always  be  rich 
enough  with  their  name. 

Neither  husband  nor  wife  has  the  remotest  idea  of  modern 
luxury.  They  retain  a livery  only  seen  elsewhere  on  the 
stage,  and  cling  to  old  fashions  in  plate,  furniture,  and 
equipages,  as  in  language  and  manner  of  life.  This  is  a kind 
of  ancient  state,  moreover,  that  suits  passably  well  with  pro- 
vincial thrift.  The  good  folk  are,  in  fact,  the  lords  of  the  manor 
of  a bygone  age,  minus  the  quit-rents  and  heriots,  the  pack  of 
hounds  and  the  laced  coats ; full  of  honor  among  themselves, 
and  one  and  all  loyally  devoted  to  princes  whom  they  only 
see  at  a distance.  The  historical  house  incognito  is  as  quaint 
a survival  as  a piece  of  ancient  tapestry.  Vegetating  some- 
where among  them  there  is  sure  to  be  an  uncle  or  a brother, 
a lieutenant-general,  an  old  courtier  of  the  King,  who  wears 
the  red  ribbon  of  the  order  of  Saint-Louis,  and  went  to  Han- 
over with  the  Marechal  de  Richelieu,  and  here  you  find  him 
like  a stray  leaf  out  of  some  old  pamphlet  of  the  time  of  Louis 
Quinze. 

This  fossil  greatness  finds  a rival  in  another  house,  wealthier, 


282 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


though  of  less  ancient  lineage.  Husband  and  wife  spend  a 
couple  of  months  of  every  winter  in  Paris,  bringing  back 
with  them  its  frivolous  tone  and  short-lived  contemporary 
crazes.  Madame  is  a woman  of  fashion,  though  she  looks 
rather  conscious  of  her  clothes,  and  is  always  behind  the 
mode.  She  scoffs,  however,  at  the  ignorance  affected  by 
her  neighbors.  Her  plate  is  of  modern  fashion ; she  has 
“ grooms,”  negroes,  a valet-de-chambre,  and  whatnot.  Her 
oldest  son  drives  a tilbury,  and  does  nothing  (the  estate  is 
entailed  upon  him),  his  younger  brother  is  auditor  to  a coun- 
cil of  state.  The  father  is  well  posted  up  in  official  scandals, 
and  tells  you  anecdotes  of  Louis  XVIII.  and  Mme.  du  Cayla. 
He  invests  his  money  in  the  five  per  cents.,  and  is  careful  to 
avoid  the  topic  of  cider,  but  has  been  known  occasionally  to 
fall  a victim  to  the  craze  for  rectifying  the  conjectural  sums- 
total  of  the  various  fortunes  of  the  department.  He  is  a 
member  of  the  departmental  council,  has  his  clothes  from 
Paris,  and  wears  the  cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  In  short, 
he  is  a country  gentleman  who  has  fully  grasped  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  Restoration,  and  is  coining  money  at  the  Cham- 
ber, but  his  Royalism  is  less  pure  than  that  of  the  rival  house  ; 
he  takes  the  Gazette  and  the  Debats,  the  other  family  only 
reads  the  Qaotidienne. 

His  lordship  the  bishop,  a sometime  vicar-general,  fluctuates 
between  the  two  powers,  who  pay  him  the  respect  due  to 
religion,  but  at  times  they  bring  home  to  him  the  moral 
appended  by  the  worthy  La  Fontaine  to  the  fable  of  the  ‘‘Ass 
laden  with  Relics.”  The  good  man’s  origin  is  distinctly 
plebeian. 

Then  come  stars  of  the  second  magnitude,  men  of  family 
with  ten  or  twelve  hundred  livres  a year,  captains  in  the  navy 
or  cavalry  regiments,  or  nothing  at  all.  Out  on  the  roads, 
on  horseback,  they  rank  half-way  between  the  cure  bearing 
the  sacraments  and  the  tax-collector  on  his  rounds.  Pretty 
nearly  all  of  them  have  been  in  the  Pages  or  in  the  Horse 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


283 


Guards,  and  now  are  peaceably  ending  their  days  in  worthy 
manorial  duties;  more  interested  in  felling  timber  and  the 
cider  prospects  than  in  the  monarchy. 

Still  they  talk  of  the  Charter  and  the  Liberals  while  the 
cards  are  making,  or  over  a game  at  backgammon,  when  they 
have  exhausted  the  usual  stock  topic  of  dots , and  have  married 
everybody  off  according  to  the  genealogies  which  they  all 
know  by  heart.  Their  womenkind  are  haughty  dames,  who 
assume  the  airs  of  court  ladies  in  their  basket-chaises.  They 
huddle  themselves  up  in  shawls  and  caps  by  way  of  full-dress ; 
and  twice  a year,  after  ripe  deliberation,  have  a new  bonnet 
from  Paris,  brought  as  opportunity  offers.  Exemplary  wives 
are  they  for  the  most  part,  and  garrulous. 

These  are  the  principal  elements  of  aristocratic  gentility, 
with  a few  outlying  old  maids  of  good  family,  spinsters  who 
have  solved  the  problem : given  a human  being,  to  remain 
absolutely  stationary.  They  might  be  sealed  up  in  the  houses 
where  you  see  them  ; their  faces  and  their  dresses  are  literally 
part  of  the  fixtures  of  the  town,  and  the  province  in  which 
they  dwell.  They  are  its  tradition,  its  memory,  its  quintes- 
sence, the  local  genus  incarnate.  There  is  something  frigid 
and  monumental  about  these  ladies ; they  know  exactly  when 
to  laugh  and  when  to  shake  their  heads,  and  every  now  and 
then  give  out  some  utterance  which  passes  current  as  a 
witticism. 

A few  rich  townspeople  have  crept  into  the  miniature  Fau- 
bourg Saint-Germain,  thanks  to  their  money  or  their  aristo- 
cratic leanings.  But  despite  their  forty  years,  the  circle  still 
says  of  them,  “ Young  So-and-so  has  sound  opinions,”  and  of 
such  do  they  make  deputies.  As  a general  rule,  the  elderly 
spinsters  are  their  principal  patronesses,  and  not  without 
comment. 

Finally,  in  this  exclusive  little  set  include  two  or  three 
ecclesiastics,  admitted  for  the  sake  of  their  cloth,  or  for  their 
wit ; for  these  great  nobles  find  their  own  society  rather  dull, 

W 


284 


A FORSAKEN  IV OMAN. 


and  introduce  the  bourgeois  element  into  their  drawing-rooms, 
as  a baker  puts  leaven  into  his  dough. 

The  sum-total  contained  by  all  heads  put  together  consists 
of  a certain  quantity  of  antiquated  notions ; a few  new  reflec- 
tions brewed  in  company  of  an  evening  being  added  from 
time  to  time  to  the  common  stock.  Like  sea-water  in  a little 
creek,  the  phrases  which  represent  these  ideas  surge  up  daily, 
punctually  obeying  the  tidal  laws  of  conversation  in  their 
flow  and  ebb ; you  hear  the  hollow  echo  of  yesterday,  to-day, 
to-morrow,  a year  hence,  and  for  evermore.  On  all  things 
here  below  they  pass  immutable  judgments,  which  go  to  make 
up  a body  of  tradition  into  which  no  power  of  mortal  man 
can  infuse  one  drop  of  wit  or  sense.  The  lives  of  these  per- 
sons revolve  with  the  regularity  of  clockwork  in  an  orbit  of 
use  and  wont  which  admits  of  no  more  deviation  or  change 
than  their  opinions  on  matters  religious,  political,  moral,  or 
literary. 

If  a stranger  is  admitted  to  the  cenacle ,*  every  member  of 
it  in  turn  will  say  (not  without  a trace  of  irony),  “You  will 
not  find  the  brilliancy  of  your  Parisian  society  here,”  and  pro- 
ceed forthwith  to  criticise  the  life  led  by  his  neighbors,  as  if 
he  himself  were  an  exception  who  had  striven,  and  vainly 
striven,  to  enlighten  the  rest.  But  any  stranger,  so  ill-advised 
as  to  concur  in  any  of  their  freely  expressed  criticism  of  each 
other,  is  pronounced  at  once  to  be  an  ill-natured  person,  a 
heathen,  an  outlaw,  a reprobate  Parisian  “ as  Parisians  mostly 
are.” 

Before  Gaston  de  Nueil  made  his  appearance  in  this  little 
world  of  strictly  observed  etiquette,  where  every  detail  of 
life  is  an  integrant  part  of  a whole,  and  everything  is  known; 
where  the  values  of  personalty  and  real  estate  are  quoted  like 
stocks  on  the  last  sheet  of  the  newspaper — before  his  arrival 
he  had  been  weighed  in  the  unerring  scales  of  Bayeusaine 
judgment. 


* Guest-chamber. 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


285 


His  cousin,  Mme.  de  Sainte-Severe,  had  already  given  out 
the  amount  of  his  fortune,  and  the  sum  of  his  expectations, 
had  produced  the  family  tree,  and  expatiated  on  the  talents, 
breeding,  and  modesty  of  this  particular  branch.  So  he  re- 
ceived the  precise  amount  of  attention  to  which  he  was  enti- 
tled ; he  was  accepted  as  a worthy  scion  of  a good  stock ; 
and,  for  he  was  but  twenty-three,  was  made  welcome  without 
ceremony,  though  certain  young  ladies  and  mothers  of  daugh- 
ters looked  not  unkindly  upon  him. 

He  had  an  income  of  eighteen  thousand  livres  from  land 
in  the  valley  of  the  Auge ; and  sooner  or  later  his  father,  as 
in  duty  bound,  would  leave  him  the  chateau  of  Manerville,  with 
the  lands  thereunto  belonging.  As  for  his  education,  political 
career,  personal  qualities,  and  qualifications — no  one  so  much 
as  thought  of  raising  the  questions.  His  land  was  undeniable, 
his  rentals  steady  ; excellent  plantations  had  been  made ; the 
tenants  paid  for  repairs,  rates,  and  taxes ; the  apple-trees  were 
thirty-eight  years  old  ; and,  to  crown  all,  his  father  was  in 
treaty  for  two  hundred  acres  of  woodland  just  outside  the 
paternal  park,  which  he  intended  to  enclose  with  walls.  No 
hopes  of  a political  career,  no  fame  on  earth,  can  compare 
with  such  advantages  as  these. 

Whether  out  of  malice  or  design,  Mme.  de  Sainte-Severe 
omitted  to  mention  that  Gaston  had  an  elder  brother ; nor 
did  Gaston  himself  say  a word  about  him.  But,  at  the  same 
time,  it  is  true  that  the  brother  was  consumptive,  and  to  all 
appearance  would  shortly  be  laid  in  earth,  lamented  and  for- 
gotten. 

At  first  Gaston  de  Nueil  amused  himself  at  the  expense  of 
the  circle.  He  drew,  as  it  were,  for  his  mental  album,  a series 
of  portraits  of  these  folk,  with  their  angular,  wrinkled  faces 
and  hooked  noses,  their  crotchets  and  ludicrous  eccentricities 
of  dress,  portraits  which  possessed  all  the  racy  flavor  of  truth. 
He  delighted  in  their  “ Normanisms,”  in  the  primitive 
quaintness  of  their  ideas  and  characters.  For  a short  time 


286 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN 


he  flung  himself  into  their  squirrel’s  life  of  busy  gyrations  in  a 
cage.  Then  he  began  to  feel  the  want  of  variety,  and  grew 
tired  of  it.  It  was  like  the  life  of  the  cloister,  cut  short 
before  it  had  well  begun.  He  drifted  on  till  he  reached  a 
crisis,  which  is  neither  spleen  nor  disgust,  but  combines  all 
the  symptoms  of  both.  When  a human  being  is  transplanted 
into  an  uncongenial  soil,  to  lead  a starved,  stunted  existence, 
there  is  always  a little  discomfort  over  the  transition.  Then, 
gradually,  if  nothing  removes  him  from  his  surroundings,  he 
grows  accustomed  to  them,  and  adapts  himself  to  the  vacuity 
which  grows  upon  him  and  renders  him  powerless.  Even 
now,  Gaston’s  lungs  were  accustomed  to  the  air ; and  he  was 
willing  to  discern  a kind  of  vegetable  happiness  in  days  that 
brought  no  mental  exertion  and  no  responsibilities.  The 
constant  stirring  of  the  sap  of  life,  the  fertilizing  influences 
of  mind  on  mind,  after  which  he  had  sought  so  eagerly  in 
Paris,  were  beginning  to  fade  from  his  memory,  and  he  was 
in  a fair  way  of  becoming  a fossil  with  these  fossils,  and  end- 
ing his  days  among  them,  content,  like  the  companions  of 
Ulysses,  in  his  gross  envelope. 

One  evening  Gaston  de  Nueil  was  seated  between  a dowager 
and  one  of  the  vicars-general  of  the  diocese,  in  a gray-paneled 
drawing-room,  floored  with  large,  white  tiles.  The  family 
portraits  which  adorned  the  walls  looked  down  upon  four 
card-tables,  and  some  sixteen  persons  gathered  about  them, 
chattering  over  their  whist.  Gaston,  thinking  of  nothing, 
digesting  one  of  those  exquisite  dinners  to  which  the  provin- 
cial looks  forward  all  through  the  day,  found  himself  justify- 
ing the  customs  of  the  country. 

He  began  to  understand  why  these  good  folk  continued  to 
play  with  yesterday’s  pack  of  cards  and  shuffled  them  on  a 
threadbare  tablecloth,  and  how  it  was  that  they  had  ceased  to 
dress  for  themselves  or  others.  He  saw  the  glimmerings  of 
something  like  a philosophy  in  the  even  tenor  of  their  per- 
petual round,  in  the  calm  of  their  methodical  monotony,  in 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


287 


their  ignorance  of  the  refinements  of  luxury.  Indeed,  he 
almost  came  to  think  that  luxury  profited  nothing ; and  even 
now,  the  city  of  Paris,  with  its  passions,  storms,  and  pleasures, 
was  scarcely  more  than  a memory  of  childhood. 

He  admired  in  all  sincerity  the  red  hands  and  shy,  bashful 
manner  of  some  young  lady  who  at  first  struck  him  as  an  awk- 
ward simpleton,  unattractive  to  the  last  degree,  and  surpass- 
ingly ridiculous.  His  doom  was  sealed.  He  had  gone  from 
the  provinces  to  Paris ; he  had  led  the  feverish  life  of  Paris ; 
and  now  he  would  have  sunk  back  into  the  lifeless  life  of  the 
provinces,  but  for  a chance  remark  which  reached  his  ear — a 
few  words  that  called  up  a swift  rush  of  such  emotions  as  he 
might  have  felt  when  a strain  of  really  great  music  mingles 
with  the  accompaniment  of  some  tedious  opera. 

“You  went  to  call  on  Mme.  de  Beauseant  yesterday,  did 
you  not?”  The  speaker  was  an  elderly  lady,  and  she  ad- 
dressed the  head  of  the  local  royal  family. 

“ I went  this  morning.  She  was  so  poorly  and  depressed 
that  I could  not  persuade  her  to  dine  with  us  to-morrow.” 

“With  Mme.  de  Champignelles ? ” exclaimed  the  dowager, 
with  something  like  astonishment  in  her  manner. 

“With  my  wife,”  calmly  assented  the  noble.  “Mme.  de 
Beauseant  is  descended  from  the  House  .of  Burgundy,  on  the 
spindle  side,  ’tis  true,  but  the  name  atones  for  everything. 
My  wife  is  very  much  attached  to  the  Vicomtesse,  and  the 
poor  lady  has  lived  alone  for  such  a. long  while,  that ” 

The  Marquis  de  Champignelles  looked  round  about  him 
while  he  spoke  with  an  air  of  cool  unconcern,  so  that  it  was 
almost  impossible  to  guess  whether  he  made  a concession  to 
Mme.  de  Beauseant’s  misfortunes  or  paid  homage  to  her 
noble  birth ; whether  he  felt  flattered  to  receive  her  in  his 
house,  or,  on  the  contrary,  sheer  pride  was  the  motive  that 
led  him  to  try  to  force  the  country  families  to  meet  the 
Vicomtesse. 

The  women  appeared  to  take  counsel  of  each  other  by  a 


288 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


glance ; there  was  a sudden  silence  in  the  room,  and  it  was 
felt  that  their  attitude  was  one  of  disapproval. 

“Does  this  Mme.  de  Beauseant  happen  to  be  the  lady 
whose  adventure  with  M.  d’Ajuda-Pinto  made  so  much 
noise?”  asked  Gaston  of  his  neighbor. 

“ The  very  same,”  he  was  told.  “ She  came  to  Courcelles 
after  the  marriage  of  the  Marquis  d’Ajuda ; nobody  visits  her. 
She  has,  besides,  too  much  sense  not  to  see  that  she  is  in  a 
false  position,  so  she  has  made  no  attempt  to  see  any  one. 
M.  de  Champignelles  and  a few  gentlemen  went  to  call  upon 
her,  but  she  would  see  none  but  M.  de  Champignelles,  per- 
haps because  he  is  a connection  of  the  family.  They  are 
related  through  the  Beauseants ; the  father  of  the  present 
Vicomte  married  a Mile,  de  Champignelles  of  the  older 
branch.  But  though  the  Vicomtesse  de  Beauseant  is  supposed 
to  be  a descendant  of  the  House  of  Burgundy,  you  can  under- 
stand that  we  could  not  admit  a wife  separated  from  her  hus- 
band into  our  society  here.  We  are  foolish  enough  still  to 
cling  to  these  old-fashioned  ideas.  There  was  the  less  excuse 
for  the  Vicomtesse,  because  M.  de  Beauseant  is  a well-bred 
man  of  the  world,  who  would  have  been  quite  ready  to  listen 

to  reason.  But  his  wife  is  quite  mad ” and  so  forth  and 

so  forth. 

M.  de  Nueil,  still  listening  to  the  speaker’s  voice,  gathered 
nothing  of  the  sense  of  the  words ; his  brain  was  too  full  of 
thick-coming  fancies.  Fancies?  What  other  name  can  you 
give  to  the  alluring  charms  of  an  adventure  that  tempts  the 
imagination  and  sets  vague  hopes  springing  up  in  the  soul ; 
to  the  sense  of  coming  events  and  mysterious  felicity  and  fear 
at  hand,  while  as  yet  there  is  no  substance  of  fact  on  which 
these  phantoms  of  caprice  can  fix  and  feed  ? Over  these  fan- 
cies thought  hovers,  conceiving  impossible  projects,  giving  in 
the  germ  all  the  joys  of  love.  Perhaps,  indeed,  all  passion  is 
contained  in  that  thought-germ,  as  the  beauty,  and  fragrance, 
and  rich  color  of  the  flower  are  all  packed  in  the  seed. 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


289 


M.  de  Nueil  did  not  know  that  Mme.  de  Beauseant  had 
taken  refuge  in  Normandy,  after  a notoriety  which  women  for 
the  most  part  envy  and  condemn,  especially  when  youth  and 
beauty  in  some  way  excuse  the  transgression.  Any  sort  of 
celebrity  bestows  an  inconceivable  prestige.  Apparently  for 
women,  as  for  families,  the  glory  of  the  crime  effaces  the  stain  ; 
and  if  such  and  such  a noble  house  is  proud  of  its  tale  of  heads 
that  have  fallen  on  the  scaffold,  a young  and  pretty  woman 
becomes  more  interesting  for  the  dubious  renown  of  a happy 
love  or  a scandalous  desertion,  and  the  more  she  is  to  be 
pitied,  the  more  she  excites  our  sympathies.  We  are  only 
pitiless  to  the  commonplace.  If,  moreover,  we  attract  all 
eyes,  we  are  to  all  intents  and  purposes  great ; how,  indeed, 
are  we  to  be  seen  unless  we  raise  ourselves  above  other  peo- 
ple’s heads  ? The  common  herd  of  humanity  feels  an  invol- 
untary respect  for  any  person  who  can  rise  above  it,  and  is 
not  over  particular  as  to  the  means  by  which  they  rise. 

It  may  have  been  that  some  such  motives  influenced  Gaston 
de  Nueil  at  unawares,  or  perhaps  it  was  curiosity,  or  a craving 
for  some  interest  in  his  life ; or,  in  a word,  that  crowd  of 
inexplicable  impulses  which,  for  want  of  a better  name,  we  are 
wont  to  call  “ fatality,”  that  drew  him  to  Mme.  de  Beauseant. 

The  figure  of  the  Vicomtesse  de  Beauseant  rose  up  suddenly 
before  him  with  gracious  thronging  associations.  She  was  a 
new  world  for  him,  a world  of  fears  and  hopes,  a world  to 
fight  for  and  to  conquer.  Inevitably  he  felt  the  contrast  be- 
tween this  vision  and  the  human  beings  in  the  shabby  room  ; 
and  then,  in  truth,  she  was  a woman  ; what  woman  had  he 
seen  so  far  in  this  dull,  little  world,  where  calculation  replaced 
thought  and  feeling,  where  courtesy  was  a cut-and-dried  for- 
mality, and  ideas  of  the  very  simplest  were  too  alarming  to  be 
received  or  to  pass  current  ? The  sound  of  Mme.  de  Beau- 
seant’s  name  revived  a young  man’s  dreams  and  wakened 
urgent  desires  that  had  lain  dormant  for  a little, 

Gaston  de  Nueil  was  absent-minded  and  preoccupied  for  the 
19 


290 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


rest  of  that  evening.  He  was  pondering  how  he  might  gain 
access  to  Mme.  de  Beauseant,  and  truly  it  was  no  very  easy 
matter.  She  was  believed  to  be  extremely  clever.  But  if 
men  and  women  of  parts  may  be  captivated  by  something 
subtle  or  eccentric,  they  are  also  exacting,  and  can  read  all 
that  lies  below  the  surface ; and  after  the  first  step  has  been 
taken,  the  chances  of  failure  and  success  in  the  difficult  task 
of  pleasing  them  are  about  even.  In  this  particular  case, 
moreover,  the  Vicomtesse,  besides  the  pride  of  her  position, 
had  all  the  dignity  of  her  name.  Her  utter  seclusion  was  the 
least  of  the  barriers  raised  between  her  and  the  world.  For 
which  reasons  it  was  well-nigh  impossible  that  a stranger, 
however  well  born,  could  hope  for  admittance ; and  yet,  the 
next  morning  found  M.  de  Nueil  taking  his  walks  abroad  in 
the  direction  of  Courcelles,  a dupe  of  illusions  natural  at  his 
age.  Several  times  he  made  the  circuit  of  the  garden  walls, 
looking  earnestly  through  every  gap  at  the  closed  shutters  or 
open  windows,  hoping  for  some  romantic  chance,  on  which 
he  founded  schemes  for  introducing  himself  into  this  unknown 
lady’s  presence,  without  a thought  of  their  impracticability. 
Morning  after  morning  was  spent  in  this  way  to  mighty  little 
purpose  ; but  with  each  day’s  walk  that  vision  of  a woman 
living  apart  from  the  world,  of  love’s  martyr  buried  in  soli- 
tude, loomed  larger  in  his  thoughts,  and  was  enshrined  in  his 
soul.  So  Gaston  de  Nueil  walked  under  the  walls  of  Cour- 
celles, and  some  gardener’s  heavy  footstep  would  set  his  heart 
beating  high  with  hope. 

He  thought  of  writing  to  Mme.  de  Beauseant,  but,  on 
mature  consideration,  what  can  you  say  to  a woman  whom  you 
have  never  seen,  a complete  stranger  ? And  Gaston  had  little 
self-confidence.  Like  most  young  persons  with  a plentiful 
crop  of  illusions  still  standing,  he  dreaded  the  mortifying 
contempt  of  silence  more  than  death  itself,  and  shuddered  at 
the  thought  of  sending  his  first  tender  epistle  forth  to  face  so 
many  chances  of  being  thrown  into  the  fire.  He  was  dis- 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


291 


tracted  by  innumerable  conflicting  ideas.  But  by  dint  of 
inventing  chimeras,  weaving  romances,  and  cudgeling  his 
brains,  he  hit  at  last  upon  one  of  the  hopeful  stratagems  that 
are  sure  to  occur  to  your  mind  if  you  persevere  long  enough, 
a stratagem  which  must  make  clear  to  the  most  inexperienced 
woman  that  here  was  a man  who  took  a fervent  interest  in  her. 
The  caprice  of  social  conventions  puts  as  many  barriers  be- 
tween lovers  as  any  Oriental  imagination  can  devise  in  the 
most  delightfully  fantastic  tale ; indeed,  the  most  extravagant 
pictures  are  seldom  exaggerations.  In  real  life,  as  in  the  fairy 
tales,  the  woman  belongs  to  him  who  can  reach  her  and  set 
her  free  from  the  position  in  which  she  languishes.  The 
poorest  of  calenders  that  ever  fell  in  love  with  the  daughter 
of  the  Khalif  is  in  truth  scarcely  farther  from  his  lady  than 
Gaston  de  Nueil  from  Mme.  de  Beauseant.  The  Vicomtesse 
knew  absolutely  nothing  of  M.  de  Nueil’s  wanderings  round 
her  house  ; Gaston  de  Nueil’s  love  grew  to  the  height  of  the 
obstacles  to  overleap  ; and  the  distance  set  between  him  and 
his  extemporized  lady-love  produced  the  usual  effect  of  dis- 
tance, in  lending  enchantment. 

One  day,  confident  in  his  inspiration,  he  hoped  everything 
from  the  love  that  must  pour  forth  from  his  eyes.  Spoken 
words,  in  his  opinion,  were  more  eloquent  than  the  most  pas- 
sionate letter;  and,  besides,  he  would  engage  feminine  curi- 
osity to  plead  for  him.  He  went,  therefore,  to  M.  de  Cham- 
pignelles,  proposing  to  employ  that  gentleman  for  the  better 
success  of  his  enterprise.  He  informed  the  Marquis  that  he 
had  been  intrusted  with  a delicate  and  important  commission 
which  concerned  the  Vicomtesse  de  Beauseant,  tha*-  he  felt 
doubtful  whether  she  would  read  a letter  written  in  an  un- 
known handwriting,  or  put  confidence  in  a stranger.  Would 
M.  de  Champignelles,  on  his  next  visit,  ask  the  Vicomtesse 
if  she  would  consent  to  receive  him — Gaston  de  Nueil  ? 
While  he  asked  the  Marquis  to  keep  his  secret  in  case  of  a re- 
fusal, he  very  ingeniously  insinuated  sufficient  reasons  for  his 


292 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


own  admittance,  to  be  duly  passed  on  to  the  Vicomtesse. 
Was  not  M.  de  Champignelles  a man  of  honor,  a loyal  gentle- 
man incapable  of  lending  himself  to  any  transaction  in  bad 
taste,  nay,  the  merest  suspicion  of  bad  taste  ! Love  lends  a 
young  man  all  the  self-possession  and  astute  craft  of  an  old 
ambassador  ; all  the  Marquis’  harmless  vanities  were  gratified, 
and  the  haughty  grandee  was  completely  duped.  He  tried 
hard  to  fathom  Gaston’s  secret;  but  the  latter,  who  would 
have  been  greatly  perplexed  to  tell  it,  turned  off  M.  de 
Champignelles’  adroit  questioning  with  a Norman’s  shrewd- 
ness, till  the  Marquis,  as  a gallant  Frenchman,  complimented 
his  young  visitor  upon  his  discretion. 

M.  de  Champignelles  hurried  off  at  once  to  Courcelles, 
with  that  eagerness  to  serve  a pretty  woman  which  belongs  to 
his  time  of  life.  In  the  Vicomtesse  de  Beauseant’s  position  such 
a message  was  likely  to  arouse  keen  curiosity ; so  although  her 
memory  supplied  no  reason  at  all  that  could  bring  M.  de  Nueil 
to  her  house,  she  saw  no  objection  to  his  visit — after  some 
prudent  inquiries  as  to  his  family  and  condition.  At  the 
same  time,  she  began  by  a refusal.  Then  she  discussed  the 
propriety  of  the  matter  with  M.  de  Champignelles,  directing 
her  questions  so  as  to  discover,  if  possible,  whether  he  knew 
the  motives  for  the  visit,  and  finally  revoked  her  negative 
answer.  The  careful  discussion  and  the  extreme  discretion 
shown  perforce  by  the  Marquis  had  seriously  piqued  her 
curiosity. 

M.  de  Champignelles  had  no  mind  to  cut  a ridiculous 
figure.  He  said,  with  the  air  of  a man  who  can  keep  another’s 
counsel,  that  the  Vicomtesse  must  know  the  purpose  of  this 
visit  perfectly  well ; while  the  Vicomtesse,  in  all  sincerity, 
had  no  notion  what  it  could  be.  Mme.  de  Beauseant,  in  per- 
plexity, connected  Gaston  with  people  whom  he  had  never 
met,  went  astray  after  various  wild  conjectures,  and  asked 
herself  if  she  had  seen  this  M.  de  Nueil  before.  In  truth,  no 
love  letter,  however  sincere  or  skillfully  indited,  could  have 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


293 


produced  so  much  effect  as  this  riddle.  Again  and  again 
Mme.  de  Beauseant  puzzled  over  it. 

When  Gaston  heard  that  he  might  call  upon  the  Vicomtesse, 
his  rapture  at  so  soon  obtaining  the  ardently  longed-for  good 
fortune  was  mingled  with  singular  embarrassment.  How  was 
he  to  contrive  a suitable  sequel  to  this  stratagem  ? 

“Bah!  I shall  see  her,"  he  said  over  and  over  again  to 
himself  as  he  dressed.  “See  her,  and  that  is  everything!” 

He  fell  to  hoping  that  once  across  the  threshold  of  Cour- 
celles  he  should  find  an  expedient  for  unfastening  this  Gordian 
knot  of  his  own  tying.  There  are  believers  in  the  omnipo- 
tence of  necessity  who  never  turn  back ; the  close  presence 
of  danger  is  an  inspiration  that  calls  out  all  their  powers  for 
victory.  Gaston  de  Nueil  was  one  of  these. 

He  took  particular  pains  with  his  dress,  imagining,  as  youth 
is  apt  to  imagine,  that  success  or  failure  hangs  on  the  position 
of  a curl,  and  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  anything  is  charming 
in  youth.  And,  in  any  case,  such  women  as  Mme.  de  Beau- 
seant are  only  attracted  by  the  charms  of  wit  or  character  of 
an  unusual  order.  Greatness  of  character  flatters  their  vanity, 
promises  a great  passion,  seems  to  imply  a comprehension  of 
the  requirements  of  their  hearts.  Wit  amuses  them,  responds 
to  the  subtlety  of  their  natures,  and  they  think  that  they  are 
understood.  And  what  do  all  women  wish  but  to  be  amused, 
understood,  or  adored  ? It  is  only  after  much  reflection  on 
the  things  of  life  that  we  understand  the  consummate  coquetry 
of  neglect  of  dress  and  reserve  at  a first  interview ; and  by 
the  time  we  have  gained  sufficient  astuteness  for  successful 
strategy,  we  are  too  old  to  profit  by  our  experience. 

While  Gaston’s  lack  of  confidence  in  his  mental  equipment 
drove  him  to  borrow  charms  from  his  clothes,  Mme.  de  Beau- 
sdant  herself  was  instinctively  giving  more  attention  to  her 
toilet. 

“ I would  rather  not  frighten  people,  at  all  events,”  she  said 
to  herself  as  she  arranged  her  hair. 


294 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


In  M.  de  Nueil’s  character,  person,  and  manner  there  was 
that  touch  of  unconscious  originality  which  gives  a kind  of 
flavor  to  things  that  any  one  might  say  or  do,  and  absolves 
everything  that  they  may  choose  to  do  or  say.  Ke  was  highly 
cultivated,  he  had  a keen  brain,  and  a face,  mobile  as  his  own 
nature,  which  won  the  good-will  of  others.  The  promise  of 
passion  and  tenderness  in  the  bright  eyes  was  fulfilled  by  an 
essentially  kind  heart.  The  resolution  which  he  made  as  he 
entered  the  house  at  Courcelles  was  in  keeping  with  his  frank 
nature  and  ardent  imagination.  But,  bold  as  he  was  with 
love,  his  heart  beat  violently  when  he  had  crossed  the  great 
court,  laid  out  like  an  English  garden,  and  the  manservant, 
who  had  taken  his  name  to  the  Vicomtesse,  returned  to  say 
that  she  would  receive  him. 

“ M.  le  Baron  de  Nueil.” 

Gaston  came  in  slowly,  but  with  sufficient  ease  of  manner ; 
and  it  is  a more  difficult  thing,  be  it  said,  to  enter  a room 
where  there  is  but  one  woman  than  a room  that  holds  a 
score. 

A great  fire  was  burning  on  the  hearth  in  spite  of  the  mild 
weather,  and  by  the  soft  light  of  the  candles  in  the  sconces 
he  saw  a young  woman  sitting  on  a high-backed  bergere  in 
the  angle  by  the  hearth.  The  seat  was  so  low  that  she  could 
move  her  head  freely  ; every  turn  of  it  was  full  of  grace  and 
delicate  charm,  whether  she  bent,  leaning  forward,  or  raised 
and  held  it  erect,  slowly  and  languidly,  as  though  it  were  a 
heavy  burden,  so  low  that  she  could  cross  her  feet  and  let 
them  appear,  or  draw  them  back  under  the  folds  of  a long, 
black  dress. 

The  Vicomtesse  made  as  if  she  would  lay  the  book  that  she 
was  reading  on  a small,  round  stand ; but  as  she  did  so  she 
turned  towards  M.  de  Nueil,  and  the  volume,  insecurely  laid 
upon  the  edge,  fell  to  the  floor  between  the  stand  and  the  sofa. 
This  did  not  seem  to  disconcert  her.  She  looked  up,  bowing 
almost  imperceptibly  in  response  to  his  greeting,  without  rising 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


295 


from  the  depths  of  the  low  chair  in  which  she  lay.  Bending 
forwards,  she  stirred  the  fire  briskly,  and  stooped  to  pick  up  a 
fallen  glove,  drawing  it  mechanically  over  her  left  hand, 
while  her  eyes  wandered  in  search  of  its  fellow.  The  glance 
was  instantly  checked,  however,  for  she  stretched  out  a thin, 
white,  all-but-transparent  right  hand,  with  flawless  ovals  of 
rose-colored  nail  at  the  tips  of  the  slender,  ringless  fingers, 
and  pointed  to  a chair  as  if  to  bid  Gaston  be  seated.  He 
sat  down,  and  she  turned  her  face  questioningly  towards  him. 
Words  cannot  describe  the  subtlety  of  the  winning  charm 
and  inquiry  in  that  gesture ; deliberate  in  its  kindliness, 
gracious  yet  accurate  in  expression,  it  was  the  outcome  of 
early  education  and  of  a constant  use  and  wont  of  the 
graciousness  of  life.  Those  movements  of  hers,  so  swift,  so 
deft,  succeeded  each  other  so  smoothly  that  Gaston  de  Nueil 
was  fascinated  by  the  blending  of  a pretty  woman’s  fastid- 
ious carelessness  with  the  high-bred  manner  of  a great  lady. 

Mme.  de  Beauseant  stood  out  in  such  strong  contrast  against 
the  automatons  among  whom  he  had  spent  two  months  of 
exile  in  that  out-of-the-world  district  of  Normandy  that  he 
could  not  but  find  in  her  the  realization  of  his  romantic 
dreams ; and,  on  the  other  hand,  he  could  not  compare  her 
perfections  with  those  of  other  women  whom  he  had  form- 
erly admired.  Here  in  her  presence,  in  a drawing-room 
like  some  salon  in  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  full  of 
costly  trifles  lying  about  upon  the  tables,  and  flowers  and 
books,  he  felt  as  if  he  were  back  in  Paris.  It  was  a real  Paris- 
ian carpet  beneath  his  feet ; he  saw  once  more  the  high-bred 
type  of  Parisienne,  the  fragile  outlines  of  her  form,  her 
exquisite  charm,  her  disdain  of  the  studied  effects  which  do 
so  much  to  spoil  provincial  women. 

Mme.  de  Beauseant  had  fair  hair  and  dark  eyes,  and  the 
pale  complexion  that  belongs  to  fair  hair.  She  held  up  her 
brow  nobly  like  some  fallen  angel,  grown  proud  through  the 
fall,  disdainful  of  pardon.  Her  way  of  gathering  her  thick 


296 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


hair  into  a crown  of  plaits  above  the  broad,  curving  lines  of 
the  bandeaux  upon  her  forehead,  added  to  the  queenliness  of 
her  face.  Imagination  could  discover  the  ducal  coronet  of 
Burgundy  in  the  spiral  threads  of  her  golden  hair ; all  the 
courage  of  her  house  seemed  to  gleam  from  the  great  lady’s 
brilliant  eyes,  such  courage  as  women  use  to  repel  audacity  or 
scorn,  for  they  were  full  of  tenderness  and  gentleness.  The 
outline  of  that  little  head,  so  admirably  poised  above  the  long, 
white  throat,  the  delicate,  fine  features,  the  subtle  curves  of 
the  lips,  the  mobile  face  itself,  wore  an  expression  of  delicate 
discretion,  a faint  semblance  of  irony  suggestive  of  craft  and 
insolence.  Yet  it  would  have  been  difficult  to  refuse  forgive- 
ness to  those  two  feminine  failings  in  her ; for  the  lines  that 
came  out  in  her  forehead  whenever  her  face  was  not  in  repose, 
like  her  upward  glances  (that  pathetic  trick  of  manner),  told 
unmistakably  of  unhappiness,  of  a passion  that  had  all  but 
cost  her  her  life.  A woman,  sitting  in  the  great,  silent  salon, 
a woman  cut  off  from  the  rest  of  the  world  in  this  remote 
little  valley,  alone,  with  the  memories  of  her  brilliant,  happy, 
and  impassioned  youth,  of  continual  gaiety  and  homage  paid 
on  all  sides,  now  replaced  by  the  horrors  of  the  void — was 
there  not  something  in  the  sight  to  strike  awe  that  deepened 
with  reflection  ? Consciousness  of  her  own  value  lurked  in 
her  smile.  She  was  neither  wife  nor  mother,  she  was  an  out- 
law ; she  had  lost  the  one  heart  that  could  set  her  pulses  beat- 
ing without  shame ; she  had  nothing  from  without  to  support 
her  reeling  soul ; she  must  even  look  for  strength  from  within, 
live  her  own  life,  cherish  no  hope  save  that  of  forsaken  love, 
which  looks  forward  to  death’s  coming,  and  hastens  his  lagging 
footsteps.  And  this  while  life  was  in  its  prime.  Oh  ! to  feel 
destined  for  happiness  and  to  die — never  having  given  nor 
received  it  ! A woman  too  ! What  pain  was  this  ! These 
thoughts,  flashing  across  M.  de  Nueil’s  mind  like  lightning, 
left  him  very  humble  in  the  presence  of  the  greatest  charm 
with  which  woman  can  be  invested.  The  triple  aureole  of 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


297 


beauty,  nobleness,  and  misfortune  dazzled  him ; he  stood  in 
dreamy,  almost  open-mouthed  admiration  of  the  Vicomtesse. 
But  he  found  nothing  to  say  to  her. 

Mme.  de  Beauseant,  by  no  means  displeased,  no  doubt,  by 
his  surprise,  held  out  her  hand  with  a kindly  but  imperious 
gesture  ; then,  summoning  a smile  to  her  pale  lips,  as  if  obey- 
ing, even  yet,  the  woman’s  impulse  to  be  gracious — 

“I  have  heard*  from  M.  de  Champignelles  of  a message 
which  you  have  kindly  undertaken  to  deliver,  monsieur,”  she 

said.  4 4 Can  it  be  from ” 

With  that  terrible  phrase  Gaston  understood,  even  more 
clearly  than  before,  his  own  ridiculous  position,  the  bad  taste 
and  bad  faith  of  his  behavior  towards  a woman  so  noble  and 
so  unfortunate.  He  reddened.  The  thoughts  that  crowded 
in  upon  him  could  be  read  in  his  troubled  eyes  ; but  suddenly, 
with  the  courage  which  youth  draws  from  a sense  of  its  own 
wrong-doing,  he  gained  confidence,  and  very  humbly  inter- 
rupted Mme.  de  Beauseant. 

“ Madame,”  he  faltered  out,  “I  do  not  deserve  the  happi- 
ness of  seeing  you.  I have  deceived  you  basely.  However 
strong  the  motive  may  have  been,  it  can  never  excuse  the 
pitiful  subterfuge  which  I used  to  gain  my  end.  But,  madame, 

if  your  goodness  will  permit  me  to  tell  you ” 

The  Vicomtesse  glanced  at  M.  de  Nueil,  haughty  disdain 
in  her  whole  manner.  She  stretched  her  hand  to  the  bell 
and  rang  it. 

“Jacques,”  she  said,  “ light  this  gentleman  to  the  door/* 
and  she  looked  with  dignity  at  the  visitor. 

She  rose  proudly,  bowed  to  Gaston,  and  then  stooped  for 
the  fallen  volume.  If  all  her  movements  on  his  entrance  had 
been  caressingly  dainty  and  gracious,  her  every  gesture  now 
was  no  less  severely  frigid.  M.  de  Nueil  rose  to  his  feet,  but 
he  stood  waiting.  Mme.  de  Beauseant  flung  another  glance 
at  him.  “ Well,  why  do  you  not  go  ? ” she  seemed  to  say. 
There  was  such  cutting  irony  in  that  glance  that  Gaston 


298 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


grew  white  as  if  he  were  about  to  faint.  Tears  came  into  his 
eyes,  but  he  would  not  let  them  fall,  and  scorching  shame  and 
despair  dried  them.  He  looked  back  at  Mme.  de  Beauseant, 
and  a certain  pride  and  consciousness  of  his  own  worth  was 
mingled  with  his  humility ; the  Vicomtesse  had  a right  to 
punish  him,  but  ought  she  to  use  her  right  ? Then  he  went 
out. 

As  he  crossed  the  ante-chamber,  a clear  head  and  wits 
sharpened  by  passion  were  not  slow  to  grasp  the  danger  of 
his  situation. 

“ If  I leave  this  house,  I can  never  come  back  to  it  again,” 
he  said  to  himself.  “The  Vicomtesse  will  always  think  of 
me  as  a fool.  It  is  impossible  that  a woman,  and  such  a 
woman,  should  not  guess  the  love  that  she  has  called  forth. 
Perhaps  she  feels  a little,  vague,  involuntary  regret  for  dis- 
missing me  so  abruptly.  But  she  could  not  do  otherwise, 
and  she  cannot  recall  her  sentence.  It  rests  with  me  to  un- 
derstand her.” 

At  that  thought  Gaston  stopped  short  on  the  flight  of  steps 
with  an  exclamation;  he  turned  sharply,  saying,  “I  have 
forgotten  something,”  and  went  back  to  the  salon.  The 
lackey,  all  respect  for  a baron  and  the  rights  of  property,  was 
completely  deceived  by  the  natural  utterance,  and  followed 
him.  Gaston  returned  quietly  and  unannounced.  The  Vicom- 
tesse, thinking  that  the  intruder  was  the  servant,  looked  up 
and  beheld  M.  de  Nueil. 

“Jacques  lighted  me  to  the  door,”  he  said,  with  a half-sad 
smile  which  dispelled  any  suspicion  of  jest  in  those  words, 
while  the  tone  in  which  they  were  spoken  went  to  the  heart. 
Mme.  de  Beauseant  was  disarmed. 

“ Very  well,  take  a seat,”  she  said. 

Gaston  eagerly  took  possession  of  a chair.  His  eyes  were 
shining  with  happiness ; the  Vicomtesse,  unable  to  endure 
the  brilliant  light  in  them,  looked  down  at  the  book.  She 
was  enjoying  a delicious,  ever-new  sensation  ; the  sense  of  a 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


299 


man’s  delight  in  her  presence  is  an  unfailing  feminine  instinct. 
And  then,  besides,  he  had  divined  her,  and  a woman  is  so 
grateful  to  the  man  who  has  mastered  the  apparently  capri- 
cious, yet  logical,  reasoning  of  her  heart ; who  can  track 
her  thought  through  the  seemingly  contradictory  workings  of 
her  mind,  and  read  the  sensations,  or  shy  or  bold,  written 
in  fleeting  red,  a bewildering  maze  of  coquetry  and  self- 
revelation. 

“ Madame,”  Gaston  exclaimed  in  a low  voice,  “my  blun- 
der you  know,  but  you  do  not  know  how  much  I am  to 
blame.  If  you  only  knew  what  joy  it  was  to ” 

“ Ah  ! take  care,”  she  said,  holding  up  one  finger  with  an 
air  of  mystery,  as  she  put  out  her  hand  towards  the  bell. 

The  charming  gesture,  the  gracious  threat,  no  doubt,  called 
up  some  sad  thought,  some  memory  of  the  old  happy  time 
when  she  could  be  wholly  charming  and  gentle  without  an 
after-thought  ; when  the  gladness  of  her  heart  justified  every 
caprice,  and  put  charm  into  every  least  movement.  The 
lines  in  her  forehead  gathered  between  her  brows,  and  the  ex- 
pression of  her  face  grew  dark  in  the  soft  candle-light.  Then 
looking  across  at  M.  de  Nueil  gravely  but  not  unkindly,  she 
spoke  like  a woman  who  deeply  feels  the  meaning  of  every 
word. 

“ This  is  all  very  ridiculous  ! Once  upon  a time,  mon- 
sieur, when  thoughtless  high  spirits  were  my  privilege,  I 
should  have  laughed  fearlessly  over  your  visit  with  you.  But 
now  my  life  is  very  much  changed.  I cannot  do  as  I like,  I 
am  obliged  to  think.  What  brings  you  here?  Is  it  curi- 
osity ? In  that  case  I am  paying  dearly  for  a little  fleeting 
pleasure.  Have  you  fallen  passionately  in  love  already  with  a 
woman  whom  you  have  never  seen,  a woman  with  whose 
name  slander  has,  of  course,  been  busy  ? If  so,  your  motive 
in  making  this  visit  is  based  on  disrespect,  on  an  error  which 
accident  brought  into  notoriety.” 

She  flung  her  book  down  scornfully  upon  the  table,  then, 


300 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


with  a terrible  look  at  Gaston,  she  went  on  : “ Because  I 
once  was  weak,  must  it  be  supposed  that  I am  always  weak  ? 
This  is  horrible,  degrading.  Or  have  you  come  here  to  pity 
me  ? You  are  very  young  to  offer  sympathy  with  heart 
troubles.  Understand  this  clearly,  sir,  that  I would  rather 
have  scorn  than  pity.  I will  not  endure  compassion  from  any 
one.” 

There  was  a brief  pause. 

“ Well,  sir,”  she  continued  (and  the  face  that  she  turned 
to  him  was  gentle  and  sad),  “ whatever  motive  induced  this 
rash  intrusion  upon  my  solitude,  it  is  very  painful  to  me,  you 
see.  You  are  too  young  to  be  totally  without  good  feeling, 
so  surely  you  will  feel  that  this  behavior  of  yours  is  im- 
proper. I forgive  you  for  it,  and,  as  you  see,  I am  speaking 
of  it  to  you  without  bitterness.  You  will  not  come  here 
again,  will  you?  I am  entreating  when  I might  command. 
If  you  come  to  see  me  again,  neither  you  nor  I can  prevent 
the  whole  place  from  believing  that  you  are  my  lover,  and  you 
would  cause  me  great  additional  annoyance.  You  do  not 
mean  to  do  that,  I think.” 

She  said  no  more,  but  looked  at  him  with  a great  dignity 
which  abashed  him. 

“I  have  done  wrong,  madame,”  he  said,  with  deep  feeling 
in  his  voice,  “ but  it  was  through  enthusiasm  and  thought- 
lessness and  eager  desire  of  happiness,  the  qualities  and  de- 
fects of  my  age.  Now,  I understand  that  I ought  not  to 
have  tried  to  see  you,”  he  added  ; “but,  at  the  same  time, 
the  desire  was  a very  natural  one  ” — and  making  an  appeal  to 
feeling  rather  than  to  the  intellect,  he  described  the  weariness 
of  his  enforced  exile.  He  drew  a portrait  of  a young  man 
in  whom  the  fires  of  life  were  burning  themselves  out,  con- 
veying the  impression  that  here  was  a heart  worthy  of  tender 
love,  a heart  which,  notwithstanding,  had  never  known  the 
joys  of  love  for  a young  and  beautiful  woman  of  refinement 
and  taste.  He  explained,  without  attempting  to  justify,  his 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN 


301 


unusual  conduct.  He  flattered  Mme.  de  Beauseant  by  show- 
ing that  she  had  realized  for  him  the  ideal  lady  of  a young 
man’s  dream,  the  ideal  sought  by  so  many,  and  so  often 
sought  in  vain.  Then  he  touched  upon  his  morning  prowl- 
ings  under  the  walls  of  Courcelles,  and  his  wild  thoughts  at 
the  first  sight  of  the  house,  till  he  excited  that  vague  feeling 
of  indulgence  which  a woman  can  find  in  her  heart  for  the 
follies  committed  for  her  sake. 

An  impassioned  voice  was  speaking  in  the  chill  solitude ; 
the  speaker  brought  with  him  a warm  breath  of  youth  and  the 
charms  of  a carefully  cultivated  mind.  It  was  so  long  since 
Mme.  de  Beauseant  had  felt  stirred  by  real  feeling  delicately 
expressed,  that  it  affected  her  very  strongly  now.  In  spite  of 
herself,  she  watched  M.  de  Nueil’s  expressive  face,  and  ad- 
mired the  noble  confidence  of  a soul,  unbroken  as  yet  by  the 
cruel  discipline  of  the  life  of  the  world,  unfretted  by  con- 
tinual scheming  to  gratify  personal  ambition  and  vanity. 
Gaston  was  in  the  flower  of  his  youth,  he  impressed  her  as  a 
man  with  something  in  him,  unaware  as  yet  of  the  great 
career  that  lay  before  him.  So  both  these  two  made  reflec- 
tions most  dangerous  for  their  peace  of  mind,  and  both  strove 
to  conceal  their  thoughts.  M.  de  Nueil  saw  in  the  Vicom- 
tesse  a rare  type  of  woman,  always  the  victim  of  her  perfec- 
tion and  tenderness ; her  graceful  beauty  is  the  least  of  her 
charms  for  those  who  are  privileged  to  know  the  infinite  of 
feeling  and  thought  and  goodness  in  the  soul  within  ; a 
woman,  whose  instinctive  feeling  for  beauty  runs  through  all 
the  most  varied  expressions  of  love,  purifying  its  transports, 
turning  them  to  something  almost  holy ; wonderful  secret  of 
womanhood,  the  exquisite  gift  that  nature  so  seldom  bestows. 
And  the  Vicomtesse,  on  her  side,  listening  to  the  ring  of 
sincerity  in  Gaston’s  voice,  while  he  told  of  his  youthful 
troubles,  began  to  understand  all  that  grown  children  of  five- 
and-twenty  suffer  from  diffidence,  when  hard  work  has  kept 
them  alike  from  corrupting  influences  and  intercourse  with 


302 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


men  and  women  of  the  world  whose  sophistical  reasoning  and 
experience  destroy  the  fair  qualities  of  youth.  Here  was  the 
ideal  of  women’s  dreams,  a man  unspoiled  as  yet  by  the 
egoism  of  family  or  success,  or  by  that  narrow  selfishness 
which  blights  the  first  impulses  of  honor,  devotion,  self-sacri- 
fice, and  high  demands  of  self ; all  the  flowers  so  soon  wither 
that  enrich  at  first  the  life  of  delicate  but  strong  emotions, 
and  keep  alive  the  loyalty  of  the  heart. 

But  these  two,  once  launched  forth  on  the  vast  sea  of  senti- 
ment, went  far  indeed  in  theory,  sounding  the  depths  in 
either  soul,  testing  the  sincerity  of  their  expressions ; only, 
whereas  Gaston’s  experiments  were  made  unconsciously,  Mme. 
de  Beauseant  had  a purpose  in  all  that  she  said.  Bringing 
her  natural  and  acquired  subtlety  to  the  work,  she  sought  to 
learn  M.  de  Nueil’s  opinions  by  advancing,  as  far  as  she 
could  do  so,  views  diametrically  opposed  to  her  own.  So  witty 
and  so  gracious  was  she,  so  much  herself  with  this  stranger, 
with  whom  she  felt  completely  at  ease,  because  she  felt  sure 
that  they  should  never  meet  again,  that,  after  some  delicious 
epigram  of  hers,  Gaston  exclaimed  unthinkingly — 

“ Oh  ! madame,  how  could  any  man  have  left  you?” 

The  Vicomtesse  was  silent.  Gaston  reddened,  he  thought 
that  he  had  offended  her  ; but  she  was  not  angry.  The  first 
deep  thrill  of  delight  since  the  day  of  her  calamity  had  taken 
her  by  surprise.  The  skill  of  the  cleverest  roue  could  not 
have  made  the  impression  that  M.  de  Nueil  made  with  that 
cry  from  the  heart.  That  verdict  wrung  from  a young  man’s 
candor  gave  her  back  innocence  in  her  own  eyes,  condemned 
the  world,  laid  the  blame  upon  the  lover  who  had  left  her, 
and  justified  her  subsequent  solitary  drooping  life.  The 
world’s  absolution,  the  heartfelt  sympathy,  the  social  esteem 
so  longed  for,  and  so  harshly  refused,  nay,  all  her  secret 
desires  were  given  her  to  the  full  in  that  exclamation,  made 
fairer  yet  by  the  heart’s  sweetest  flatteries  and  the  admiration 
that  women  always  relish  eagerly.  He  understood  her,  un- 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


303 


derstood  all,  and  he  had  given  her,  as  if  it  were  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world,  the  opportunity  of  rising  higher 
through  her  fall.  She  looked  at  the  clock. 

“Ah  ! madame,  do  not  punish  me  for  my  heedlessness.  If 
you  grant  me  but  one  evening,  vouchsafe  not  to  shorten  it,  I 
pray  you.” 

She  smiled  at  the  pretty  speech. 

“Well,  as  we  must  never  meet  again,”  she  said,  “what  sig- 
nifies a moment  more  or  less  ? If  you  were  to  care  for  me, 
it  would  be  a pity.” 

“ It  is  too  late  now,”  he  said. 

“Do  not  tell  me  that,”  she  answered  gravely.  “Under 
any  other  circumstances  I should  be  very  glad  to  see  you.  I 
will  speak  frankly,  and  you  will  understand  how  it  is  that 
I do  not  choose  to  see  you  again,  and  ought  not  to  do  so. 
You  have  too  much  magnanimity  not  to  feel  that  if  I were  so 
much  as  suspected  of  a second  trespass,  every  one  would  think 
of  me  as  a contemptible  and  vulgar  woman ; I should  be  like 
other  women.  A pure  and  blameless  life  will  bring  my  char- 
acter into  relief.  I am  too  proud  not  to  endeavor  to  live  like 
one  apart  in  the  world,  a victim  of  the  law  through  my  mar- 
riage, man’s  victim  through  my  love.  If  I were  not  faithful 
to  the  position  which  I have  taken  up,  then  I should  deserve 
all  the  reproach  that  is  heaped  upon  me  ; I should  be  lowered 
in  my  own  eyes.  I had  not  enough  lofty  social  virtue  to 
remain  with  a man  whom  I did  not  love.  I have  snapped  the 
bonds  of  marriage  in  spite  of  the  law  ; it  was  wrong,  it  was  a 
crime,  it  was  anything  you  like,  but  for  me  the  bonds  meant 
death.  I meant  to  live.  Perhaps  if  I had  been  a mother  I 
could  have  endured  the  torture  of  a forced  marriage  of  suita- 
bility. At  eighteen  we  scarcely  know  what  is  done  with  us, 
poor  girls  that  we  are  ! I have  broken  the  laws  of  the  world, 
and  the  world  has  punished  me ; we  both  did  rightly.  I 
sought  happiness.  Is  it  not  a law  of  our  nature  to  seek  for 
happiness?  I was  young,  I was  beautiful.  I thought  that  I 


304 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


had  found  a nature  as  loving,  as  apparently  passionate.  I was 
loved  indeed  ; for  a little  while ” 

She  paused. 

“ I used  to  think,”  she  said,  “ that  no  one  could  leave  a 
woman  in  such  a position  as  mine.  I have  been  forsaken  ; I 
must  have  offended  in  some  way.  Yes,  in  some  way,  no 
doubt,  I failed  to  keep  some  law  of  our  nature,  was  too  lov- 
ing, too  devoted,  too  exacting — I do  not  know.  Evil  days 
have  brought  light  with  them  ? For  a long  while  I blamed 
another,  now  I am  content  to  bear  the  whole  blame.  At  my 
own  expense,  I have  absolved  that  other  of  whom  I once 
thought  I had  a right  to  complain.  I had  not  the  art  to  keep 
him  ; fate  has  punished  me  heavily  for  my  lack  of  skill.  I 
only  knew  how  to  love  ; how  can  one  keep  one’s  self  in  mind 
when  one  loves  ? So  I was  a slave  when  I should  have  sought 
to  be  a tyrant.  Those  who  know  me  may  condemn  me,  but 
they  will  respect  me  too,  Pain  has  taught  me  that  I must  not 
lay  myself  open  to  this  a second  time.  I cannot  understand 
how  it  is  that  I am  living  yet,  after  the  anguish  of  that  first 
week  of  the  most  fearful  crisis  in  a woman’s  life.  Only  from 
three  years  of  loneliness  would  it  be  possible  to  draw  strength 
to  speak  of  that  time  as  I am  speaking  now.  Such  agony, 
monsieur,  usually  ends  in  death ; but  this — well,  it  was  the 
agony  of  death  with  no  tomb  to  end  it.  Oh  ! I have  known 
pain  indeed  ! ” 

The  Vicomtesse  raised  her  beautiful  eyes  to  the  ceiling ; 
and  the  cornice,  no  doubt,  received  all  the  confidences  which 
a stranger  might  not  hear.  When  a woman  is  afraid  to  look 
at  her  interlocutor,  there  is  in  truth  no  gentler,  meeker,  more 
accommodating  confidante  than  the  cornice.  The  cornice  is 
quite  an  institution  in  the  boudoir;  what  is  it  but  the  con- 
fessional, minus  the  priest  ? 

Mme.  de  Beauseant  was  eloquent  and  beautiful  at  that 
moment ; nay,  “coquettish,”  if  the  word  were  not  too  heavy. 
By  justifying  herself,  by  raising  insurmountable  barriers  be- 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


305 


tween  herself  and  love,  she  was  stimulating  every  sentiment 
in  the  man  before  her;  nay,  more,  the  higher  she  set  the 
goal,  the  more  conspicuous  it  grew.  At  last,  when  her  eyes 
had  lost  the  too  eloquent  expression  given  to  them  by  painful 
memories,  she  let  them  fall  on  Gaston. 

“ You  acknowledge,  do  you  not,  that  I am  bound  to  find  a 
solitary,  self-contained  life  ? ” she  said  quietly. 

So  sublime  was  she  in  her  reasoning  and  her  madness  that 
M.  de  Nueil  felt  a wild  longing  to  throw  himself  at  her  feet ; 
but  he  was  afraid  of  making  himself  ridiculous,  so  he  held  his 
enthusiasm  and  his  thoughts  in  check.  He  was  afraid,  too, 
that  he  might  totally  fail  to  express  them,  and  in  no  less  terror 
of  some  awful  rejection  on  her  part,  or  of  her  mockery,  an  ap- 
prehension which  strikes  like  ice  to  the  most  fervid  soul. 
The  revulsion  which  led  him  to  crush  down  every  feeling 
as  it  sprang  up  in  his  heart  cost  him  the  intense  pain  that 
diffident  and  ambitious  natures  experience  in  the  frequent 
crises  when  they  are  compelled  to  stifle  their  longings.  And 
yet,  in  spite  of  himself,  he  broke  the  silence  to  say  in  a falter- 
ing voice — 

“ Madame,  permit  me  to  give  way  to  one  of  the  strongest 
emotions  of  my  life,  and  own  to  all  that  you  have  made  me 
feel.  You  set  the  heart  in  me  swelling  high  ! I feel  within 
me  a longing  to  make  you  forget  your  mortifications,  to  de- 
vote my  life  to  this,  to  give  you  love  for  all  who  have  ever 
given  you  wounds  or  hate.  But  this  is  a very  sudden  out- 
pouring of  the  heart,  nothing  can  justify  it  to-day,  and  I 
ought  not ” 

“Enough,  monsieur,”  said  Mme.  de  Beauseant ; “we  have 
both  of  us  gone  too  far.  By  giving  you  the  sad  reasons  for  a 
refusal  which  I am  compelled  to  give,  I meant  to  soften  it  and 
not  to  elicit  homage.  Coquetry  only  suits  a happy  woman. 
Believe  me,  we  must  remain  strangers  to  each  other.  At  a 
later  day  you  will  know  that  ties  which  must  inevitably  be 
broken  ought  not  to  be  formed  at  all.” 

20 


306 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


She  sighed  lightly,  and  her  brows  contracted,  but  almost 
immediately  grew  clear  again. 

“ How  painful  it  is  for  a woman  to  be  powerless  to  follow 
the  man  she  loves  through  all  the  phases  of  his  life  ! And  if 
that  man  loves  her  truly,  his  heart  must  surely  vibrate  with 
pain  to  the  deep  trouble  in  hers.  Are  they  not  twice  un- 
happy ? ” 

There  was  a short  pause.  Then  she  rose  smiling. 

“You  little  suspected,  when  you  came  to  Courcelles,  that 
you  were  to  hear  a sermon,  did  you?  ” 

Gaston  felt  even  farther  than  at  first  from  this  extraordinary 
woman.  Was  the  charm  of  that  delightful  hour  due  after  all 
to  the  coquetry  of  the  mistress  of  the  house  ? She  had  been 
anxious  to  display  her  wit.  He  bowed  stiffly  to  the  Vicom- 
tesse,  and  went  away  in  desperation. 

On  the  way  home  he  tried  to  detect  the  real  character  of  a 
creature  supple  and  hard  as  a steel  spring ; but  he  had  seen  her 
pass  through  so  many  phases,  that  he  could  not  make  up  his 
mind  about  her.  The  tones  of  her  voice,  too,  were  ringing 
in  his  ears ; her  gestures,  the  little  movements  of  her  head, 
and  the  varying  expression  of  her  eyes  grew  more  gracious 
in  memory,  more  fascinating  as  he  thought  of  them.  The 
Vicomtesse’s  beauty  shone  out  again  for  him  in  the  darkness ; 
his  reviving  impressions  called  up  yet  others,  and  he  was  en- 
thralled anew  by  womanly  charm  and  wit,  which  at  first  he 
had  not  perceived.  He  fell  to  wandering  musings,  in  which 
the  most  lucid  thoughts  grow  refractory  and  flatly  contradict 
each  other,  and  the  soul  passes  through  a brief  frenzy  fit. 
Youth  only  can  understand  all  that  lies  in  the  dithyrambic 
outpourings  of  youth  when,  after  a stormy  siege  of  the  most 
frantic  folly  and  coolest  commonsense,  the  heart  finally  yields 
to  the  assault  of  the  latest  comer,  be  it  hope  or  despair,  as 
some  mysterious  power  determines. 

At  three-and-twenty,  diffidence  nearly  always  rules  a man’s 
conduct ; he  is  perplexed  with  a young  girl’s  shyness,  a girl’s 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


307 


trouble  ; he  is  afraid  lest  he  should  illy  express  his  love,  sees 
nothing  but  difficulties,  and  takes  alarm  at  them  ; he  would 
be  bolder  if  he  loved  less,  for  he  has  no  confidence  in  himself, 
and  with  a growing  sense  of  the  cost  of  happiness  comes  a 
conviction  that  the  woman  he  loves  cannot  easily  be  won  ; 
perhaps,  too,  he  is  giving  himself  up  too  entirely  to  his  own 
pleasure,  and  fears  that  he  can  give  none ; and  when,  for  his 
misfortune,  his  idol  inspires  him  with  awe,  he  worships  in 
secret  and  afar,  and,  unless  his  love  is  guessed,  it  dies  away. 
Then  it  often  happens  that  one  of  these  dead  early  loves 
lingers  on,  bright  with  illusions  in  many  a young  heart. 
What  man  is  there  but  keeps  within  him  these  virgin  mem- 
ories that  grow  fairer  every  time  they  rise  before  him,  mem- 
ories that  hold  up  to  him  the  ideal  of  perfect  bliss  ? Such 
recollections  are  like  children  who  die  in  the  flower  of  child- 
hood, before  their  parents  have  known  anything  of  them  but 
their  smiles. 

So  M.  de  Nueil  came  home  from  Courcelles,  the  victim  of  a 
mood  fraught  with  desperate  resolutions.  Even  now  he  felt 
that  Mme.  de  Beauseant  was  one  of  the  conditions  of  his 
existence,  and  that  death  would  be  preferable  to  life  without 
her.  He  was  still  young  enough  to  feel  the  tyrannous  fasci- 
nation which  fully  developed  womanhood  exerts  over  immature 
and  impassioned  natures  ; and,  consequently,  he  was  to  spend 
one  of  those  stormy  nights  when  a young  man’s  thoughts 
travel  from  happiness  to  suicide  and  back  again — nights  in 
which  youth  rushes  through  a lifetime  of  bliss  and  falls  asleep 
from  sheer  exhaustion.  Fateful  nights  are  they,  and  the  worst 
misfortune  that  can  happen  is  to  awake  a philosopher  after- 
wards. M.  de  Nueil  was  far  too  deeply  in  love  to  sleep ; he 
rose  and  betook  to  inditing  letters,  but  none  of  them  were 
satisfactory,  and  he  burned  them  all. 

The  next  day  he  went  to  Courcelles  to  make  the  circuit  of 
her  garden  walls,  but  he  waited  till  nightfall ; he  was  afraid 
that  she  might  see  him.  The  instinct  that  led  him  to  act  in 


308 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


this  way  arose  out  of  so  obscure  a mood  of  the  soul,  that  none 
but  a young  man,  or  a man  in  like  case,  can  fully  understand 
its  mute  ecstasies  and  its  vagaries,  matter  to  set  those  people 
who  are  lucky  enough  to  see  life  only  in  its  matter-of-fact 
aspect  shrugging  their  shoulders.  After  painful  hesitation, 
Gaston  wrote  to  Mine,  de  Beauseant.  Here  is  the  letter, 
which  may  serve  as  a sample  of  the  epistolary  style  pecu- 
liar to  lovers,  a performance  which,  like  the  drawings  prepared 
with  great  secrecy  by  children  for  the  birthdays  of  father  or 
mother,  is  found  to  be  insufferable  by  every  mortal  except  the 
recipients : 

“ Madame  : — Your  power  over  my  heart,  my  soul,  myself, 
is  so  great  that  my  fate  depends  wholly  upon  you  to-day. 
Do  not  throw  this  letter  into  the  fire ; be  so  kind  as  to  read  it 
through.  Perhaps  you  may  pardon  the  opening  sentence 
when  you  see  that  it  is  no  commonplace,  selfish  declaration, 
but  that  it  expresses  a simple  fact.  Perhaps  you  may  feel 
moved,  because  I ask  for  so  little,  by  the  submission  of  one 
who  feels  himself  so  much  beneath  you,  by  the  influence  that 
your  decision  will  exercise  upon  my  life.  At  my  age,  madame, 
I only  know  how  to  love,  I am  utterly  ignorant  of  ways  of 
attracting  and  winning  a woman’s  love,  but  in  my  own  heart 
I know  raptures  of  adoration  of  her.  I am  irresistibly  drawn 
to  you  by  the  great  happiness  that  I feel  through  you  ; my 
thoughts  turn  to  you  with  the  selfish  instinct  which  bids  us 
draw  nearer  to  the  fire  of  life  when  we  find  it.  I do  not 
imagine  that  I am  worthy  of  you ; it  seems  impossible  that  I, 
young,  ignorant,  and  shy,  could  bring  you  one-thousandth 
part  of  the  happiness  that  I drink  in  at  the  sound  of  your 
voice  and  the  sight  of  you.  For  me  you  are  the  only  woman 
in  the  world.  I cannot  imagine  life  without  you,  so  I have 
made  up  my  mind  to  leave  France,  and  to  risk  my  life  till  I 
lose  it  in  some  desperate  enterprise,  in  the  Indies,  in  Africa,  I 
care  not  where.  How  can  I quell  a love  that  knows  no  limits 


A FORSAKEN  IVORIAN. 


309 


save  by  opposing  to  it  something  as  infinite?  Yet,  if  you 
will  allow  me  to  hope,  not  to  be  yours,  but  to  win  your  friend- 
ship, I will  stay.  Let  me  come,  not  so  very  often,  if  you 
require  it,  to  spend  a few  such  hours  with  you  as  those  stolen 
hours  of  yesterday.  The  keen  delight  of  that  brief  happiness, 
to  be  cut  short  at  the  least  over-ardent  word  from  me,  will 
suffice  to  enable  me  to  endure  the  boiling  torrent  in  my  veins. 
Have  I presumed  too  much  upon  your  generosity  by  this 
entreaty  to  suffer  an  intercourse  in  which  all  the  gain  is  mine 
alone?  You  could  find  ways  of  showing  the  world,  to  which 
you  sacrifice  so  much,  that  I am  nothing  to  you ; you  are  so 
clever  and  so  proud  ! What  have  you  to  fear  ? If  I could 
only  lay  bare  my  heart  to  you  at  this  moment,  to  convince 
you  that  it  is  with  no  lurking  after-thought  that  I make  this 
humble  request  ! Should  I have  told  you  that  my  love  was 
boundless,  while  I prayed  you  to  grant  me  friendship,  if  I 
had  any  hope  of  your  sharing  this  feeling  in  the  depths  of 
my  soul?  No,  while  I am  with  you,  I will  be  whatever  you 
will,  if  only  I may  be  with  you.  If  you  refuse  (as  you  have 
the  power  to  refuse),  I will  not  utter  one  murmur,  I will  go. 
And  if,  at  a later  day,  any  other  woman  should  enter  into 
my  life,  you  will  have  proof  that  you  were  right ; but  if  I 
am  faithful  till  death,  you  may  feel  some  regret  perhaps.  The 
hope  of  causing  you  a regret  will  soothe  my  agony,  and  that 
thought  shall  be  the  sole  revenge  of  a slighted  heart.” 

Only  those  who  have  passed  through  all  the  exceeding  tribu- 
lations of  youth,  who  have  seized  on  all  the  chimeras  with  two 
white  pinions,  the  nightmare  fancies  at  the  disposal  of  a fervid 
imagination,  can  realize  the  horrors  that  seized  upon  Gaston 
de  Nueil  when  he  had  reason  to  suppose  that  his  ultimatum 
was  in  Mme.  de  Beauseant’s  hands.  He  saw  the  Vicomtesse, 
wholly  untouched,  laughing  at  his  letter  and  his  love,  as  those 
can  laugh  who  have  ceased  to  believe  in  love.  He  could 
have  wished  to  have  his  letter  back  again.  It  was  an  absurd 


310 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN 


letter.  There  were  a thousand  and  one  things,  now  that  he 
came  to  think  of  it,  that  he  might  have  said,  things  infinitely 
better  and  more  moving  than  those  stilted  phrases  of  hisy 
those  accursed,  sophisticated,  pretentious,  fine-spun  phrases, 
though,  luckily,  the  punctuation  had  been  pretty  bad,  and  the 
lines  shockingly  crooked.  He  tried  not  to  think,  not  to  feel; 
but  he  felt  and  thought,  and  was  wretched.  If  he  had  been 
thirty  years  old,  he  might  have  gotten  drunk,  but  the  innocent 
of  three-and-twenty  knew  nothing  of  the  resources  of  opium 
nor  of  the  expedients  of  advanced  civilization.  Nor  had  he 
at  hand  one  of  those  good  friends  of  the  Parisian  pattern  who 
understand  so  well  how  to  say  Pcele , non  dolet ! by  producing 
a bottle  of  champagne,  or  alleviate  the  agony  of  suspense  by 
carrying  you  off  somewhere  to  make  a night  of  it.  Capital 
fellows  are  they,  always  in  low  water  when  you  are  in  funds, 
always  off  to  some  watering-place  when  you  go  to  look  them 
up,  always  with  some  bad  bargain  in  horseflesh  to  sell  you ; it 
is  true,  that  when  you  want  to  borrow  of  them,  they  have 
always  just  lost  their  last  louis  at  play ; but  in  all  other  re- 
spects they  are  the  best  fellows  on  earth,  always  ready  to 
embark  with  you  on  one  of  the  steep  down-grades  where  you 
lose  your  time,  your  soul  and  your  life  ! 

At  length  M.  de  Nueil  received  a missive  through  the  instru- 
mentality of  Jacques,  a letter  that  bore  the  arms  of  Burgundy 
on  the  scented  seal,  a letter  written  on  vellum  note-paper. 

He  rushed  away  at  once  to  lock  himself  in,  and  read  and 
re-read  her  letter. 

“You  are  punishing  me  very  severely,  monsieur,  both  for 
the  friendliness  of  my  effort  to  spare  you  a rebuff,  and  for  the 
attraction  which  intellect  always  has  for  me.  I put  confidence 
in  the  generosity  of  youth,  and  you  have  disappointed  me. 
And  yet,  if  I did  not  speak  unreservedly  (which  would  have 
been  perfectly  ridiculous),  at  any  rate  I spoke  frankly  of  my 
position,  so  that  you  might  imagine  that  I was  not  to  be 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


311 


touched  by  a young  soul.  My  distress  is  the  keener  for  my 
interest  in  you.  I am  naturally  tender-hearted  and  kindly,  but 
circumstances  force  me  to  act  unkindly.  Another  woman 
would  have  flung  your  letter,  unread,  in  the  fire ; I read  it, 
and  I am  answering  it.  My  answer  will  make  it  clear  to  you 
that  while  I am  not  untouched  by  the  expression  of  this  feel- 
ing which  I have  inspired,  albeit  unconsciously,  I am  still  far 
from  sharing  it,  and  the  step  which  I am  about  to  take  will 
show  you  still  more  plainly  that  I mean  what  I say.  I wish, 
besides,  to  use,  for  your  welfare,  that  authority,  as  it  were, 
which  you  give  me  over  your  life ; and  I desire  to  exercise  it 
this  once  to  draw  aside  the  veil  from  your  eyes. 

“ I am  nearly  thirty  years  old,  monsieur;  you  are  barely 
two-and-twenty.  You  yourself  cannot  know  what  your 
thoughts  will  be  at  my  age.  The  vows  that  you  make  so 
lightly  to-day  may  seem  a very  heavy  burden  to  you  then. 
I am  quite  willing  to  believe  that  at  this  moment  you 
would  give  me  your  whole  life  without  a regret,  you  would 
even  be  ready  to  die  for  a little  brief  happiness ; but  at 
the  age  of  thirty  experience  will  take  from  you  the  very 
power  of  making  daily  sacrifices  for  my  sake,  and  I myself 
should  feel  deeply  humiliated  if  I accepted  them.  A day 
would  come  when  everything,  even  nature,  would  bid  you 
leave  me,  and  I have  already  told  you  that  death  is  pref- 
erable to  desertion.  Misfortune  has  taught  me  to  calculate ; 
as  you  see,  I am  arguing  perfectly  dispassionately.  You 
force  me  to  tell  you  that  I have  no  love  for  you ; I ought 
not  to  love,  I cannot,  and  I will  not.  It  is  too  late  to  yield, 
as  women  yield,  to  a blind  unreasoning  impulse  of  the  heart, 
too  late  to  be  the  mistress  whom  you  seek.  My  consolations 
spring  from  God,  not  from  earth.  Ah,  and  besides,  with  the 
melancholy  insight  of  disappointed  love,  I read  hearts  too 
clearly  to  accept  your  proffered  friendship.  It  is  only  in- 
stinct. I forgive  the  boyish  ruse,  for  which  you  are  not 
responsible  as  yet.  In  the  name  of  this  passing  fancy  of 


S12 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


yours,  for  the  sake  of  your  career  and  my  own  peace  of  mind, 
I bid  you  stay  in  your  own  country;  you  must  not  spoil  a 
fair  and  honorable  life  for  an  illusion  which,  by  its  very  na- 
ture, cannot  last.  At  a later  day,  when  you  have  accom- 
plished your  real  destiny,  in  the  fully  developed  manhood 
that  awaits  you,  you  will  appreciate  this  answer  of  mine, 
though  to-day  it  may  be  that  you  blame  its  hardness.  You 
will  turn  with  pleasure  to  an  old  woman  whose  friendship  will 
certainly  be  sweet  and  precious  . to  you  then ; a friendship 
untried  by  the  extremes  of  fashion  and  the  disenchanting 
processes  of  life ; a friendship  which  noble  thoughts  and 
thoughts  of  religion  will  keep  pure  and  sacred.  Farewell ; 
do  my  bidding  with  the  thought  that  your  success  will  bring 
a gleam  of  pleasure  into  my  solitude,  and  only  think  of  me 
as  we  think  of  absent  friends.” 

Gaston  de  Nueil  read  the  letter,  and  wrote  the  following 
lines : 

“Madame  : — If  I could  cease  to  love  you,  to  take  the  chances 
of  becoming  an  ordinary  man  which  you  hold  out  to  me,  you 
must  admit  that  I should  thoroughly  deserve  my  fate.  No,  I 
shall  not  do  as  you  bid  me  ; the.  oath  of  fidelity  which  I swear 
to  you  shall  only  be  absolved  by  death.  Ah  ! take  my  life, 
unless  indeed  you  do  not  fear  to  carry  a remorse  all  through 
your  own ” 

When  the  man  returned  from  his  errand,  M.  de  Nueil  asked 
him  with  whom  he  left  the  note  ? 

“I  gave  it  to  Mme.  le  Vicomtesse  herself,  sir;  she  was  in 
her  carriage  and  just  about  to  start.” 

“ For  the  town?  ” 

“ I don’t  think  so,  sir.  Mme.  la  Vicomtesse  had  post- 
horses.  ’ ’ 

“Ah  ! then  she  is  going  away,”  said  the  Baron. 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


313 


“Yes,  sir,”  the  man  answered. 

Gaston  de  Nueil  at  once  prepared  to  follow  Mme.  de  Beau- 
seant.  She  led  the  way  as  far  as  Geneva,  without  a suspicion 
that  he  followed.  And  he  ? Amid  the  many  thoughts  that 
assailed  him  during  that  journey,  one  all-absorbing  problem 
filled  his  mind — “ Why  did  she  go  away?  ” Theories  grew 
thickly  on  such  ground  for  supposition,  and  naturally  he  in- 
clined to  the  one  that  flattered  his  hopes — “ If  the  Vicomtesse 
cares  for  me,  a clever  woman  would,  of  course,  choose  Swit- 
zerland, where  nobody  knows  either  of  us,  in  preference  to 
France,  where  she  would  find  censorious  critics.” 

An  impassioned  lover  of  a certain  stamp  would  not  feel 
attracted  to  a woman  clever  enough  to  choose  her  own  ground  ; 
such  women  are  too  clever.  However,  there  is  nothing  to 
prove  that  there  was  any  truth  in  Gaston’s  supposition. 

The  Vicomtesse  took  a small  house  by  the  side  of  the  lake. 
As  soon  as  she  was  installed  in  it,  Gaston  came  one  summer 
evening  in  the  twilight.  Jacques,  that  flunkey  in  grain, 
showed  no  sign  of  surprise,  and  announced  “M.  le  Baron  de 
Nueil”  like  a discreet  domestic  well  acquainted  with  good 
society.  At  the  sound  of  the  name,  at  the  sight  of  its  owner, 
Mme.  de  Beauseant  let  her  book  fall  from  her  hands ; her  sur- 
prise gave  him  time  to  come  close  to  her,  and  to  say  in  tones 
that  sounded  like  music  in  her  ears — 

“What  joy  it  was  to  me  to  take  the  horses  that  brought 
you  on  this  journey ! ” 

To  have  the  inmost  desires  of  the  heart  so  fulfilled  ! Where 
is  the  woman  who  could  resist  such  happiness  as  this?  An 
Italian  woman,  one  of  those  divine  creatures  who,  psycho- 
logically, are  as  far  removed  from  the  Parisian  as  if  they  lived 
at  the  Antipodes,  a being  who  would  be  regarded  as  pro- 
foundly immoral  on  this  side  the  Alps,  an  Italian  (to  resume) 
made  the  following  comment  on  some  French  novels  which 
she  had  been  reading:  “ I cannot  see,”  she  remarked,  “why 
these  poor  lovers  take  such  a time  over  coming  to  an  arrange- 


314 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


ment  which  ought  to  be  the  affair  of  a single  morning.” 
Why  should  not  the  novelist  take  a hint  from  this  worthy 
lady,  and  refrain  from  exhausting  the  theme  and  the  reader  ? 
Some  few  passages  of  coquetry  it  would  certainly  be  pleasant 
to  give  in  outline ; the  story  of  Mme.  de  Beauseant’s  demurs 
and  sweet  delayings,  that,  like  the  vestal  virgins  of  antiquity, 
she  might  fall  gracefully,  and  by  lingering  over  the  innocent 
raptures  of  first  love  draw  from  it  its  utmost  strength  and 
sweetness.  M.  de  Nueil  was  at  an  age  when  a man  is  the 
dupe  of  these  caprices,  of  the  fence  which  women  delight  to 
prolong ; either  to  dictate  their  own  terms,  or  to  enjoy  the 
sense  of  their  power  yet  longer,  knowing  instinctively  as  they 
do  that  it  must  soon  grow  less.  But,  after  all,  these  little 
boudoir  protocols,  less  numerous  than  those  of  the  Congress 
of  London,  are  too  small  to  be  worth  mentioning  in  the  his- 
tory of  this  passion. 

For  three  years  Mme.  de  Beauseant  and  M.  de  Nueil  lived 
in  the  villa  on  the  lake  of  Geneva.  They  lived  quite  alone, 
received  no  visitors,  caused  no  talk,  rose  late,  went  out  to- 
gether upon  the  lake,  knew,  in  short,  the  happiness  of  which 
we  all  of  us  dream.  It  was  a simple  little  house,  with  green 
shutters,  and  broad  balconies  shaded  with  awnings,  a house 
contrived  of  set  purpose  for  lovers,  with  its  white  couches, 
soundless  carpets,  and  fresh  hangings,  everything  within  it 
reflecting  their  joy.  Every  window  looked  out  on  some  new 
view  of  the  lake  ; in  the  far  distance  lay  the  mountains,  fan- 
tastic visions  of  changing  color  and  evanescent  cloud;  above 
them  spread  the  sunny  sky,  before  them  stretched  the  broad 
sheet  of  water,  never  the  same  in  its  fitful  changes.  All  their 
surroundings  seemed  to  dream  for  them,  all  things  smiled 
upon  them. 

Then  weighty  matters  recalled  M.  de  Nueil  to  France. 
His  father  and  brother  died,  and  he  was  obliged  to  leave 
Geneva.  The  lovers  bought  the  house ; and,  if  they  could 
have  had  their  way,  they  would  have  removed  the  hills  piece- 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN 


315 


meal,  drawn  off  the  lake  with  a siphon,  and  taken  everything 
away  with  them. 

Mme.  de  Beauseant  followed  M.  de  Nueil.  She  realized 
her  property,  and  bought  a considerable  estate  near  Maner- 
ville,  adjoining  Gaston’s  lands,  and  here  they  lived  together; 
Gaston  very  graciously  giving  up  Manerville  to  his  mother 
for  the  present  in  consideration  of  the  bachelor  freedom  in 
which  she  left  him. 

Mme.  de  Beauseant’s  estate  was  close  to  a little  town  in 
one  of  the  most  picturesque  spots  in  the  valley  of  the  Auge. 
Here  the  lovers  raised  barriers  between  themselves  and  social 
intercourse,  barriers  which  no  creature  could  overleap,  and 
here  the  happy  days  of  Switzerland  were  lived  over  again. 
For  nine  whole  years  they  knew  happiness  which  it  serves  no 
purpose  to  describe;  happiness  which  may  be  divined  from 
the  outcome  of  the  story  by  those  whose  souls  can  compre- 
hend poetry  and  prayer  in  their  infinite  manifestations. 

All  this  time  Mme.  de  Beauseant’s  husband,  the  present 
Marquis  (his  father  and  elder  brother  having  died),  enjoyed 
the  soundest  health.  There  is  no  better  aid  to  life  than  a 
certain  knowledge  that  our  demise  would  confer  a benefit  on 
some  fellow-creature.  M.  de  Beauseant  was  one  of  those 
ironical  and  wayward  beings  who,  like  holders  of  life-annui- 
ties, wake  with  an  additional  sense  of  relish  every  morning  to 
a consciousness  of  good  health.  For  the  rest,  he  was  a man 
of  the  world,  somewhat  methodical  and  ceremonious,  and  a 
calculator  of  consequences,  who  could  make  a declaration 
of  love  as  quietly  as  a lackey  announces  that  “ Madame  is 
served.” 

This  brief  biographical  notice  of  his  lordship  the  Marquis 
de  Beauseant  is  given  to  explain  the  reasons  why  it  was  im- 
possible for  the  Marquise  to  marry  M.  de  Nueil. 

So,  after  a nine  years’  lease  of  happiness,  the  sweetest 
agreement  to  which  a woman  ever  put  her  hand,  M.  de 
Nueil  and  Mme.  de  Beauseant  were  still  in  a position  quite 

X 


316 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


as  natural  and  quite  as  false  as  at  the  beginning  of  their  ad- 
venture. And  yet  they  had  reached  a fatal  crisis,  which  may 
be  stated  as  clearly  as  any  problem  in  mathematics. 

Mme.  le  Comtesse  de  Nueil,  Gaston’s  mother,  a straight- 
laced  and  virtuous  person,  who  had  made  the  late  Baron  happy 
in  strictly  legal  fashion,  would  never  consent  to  meet  Mme. 
de  Beauseant.  Mme.  de  Beauseant  quite  understood  that  the 
worthy  dowager  must  of  necessity  be  her  enemy,  and  that  she 
would  try  to  draw  Gaston  from  his  unhallowed  and  immoral 
way  of  life.  The  Marquise  de  Beauseant  would  willingly  have 
sold  her  property  and  gone  back  to  Geneva,  but  she  could 
not  bring  herself  to  do  it ; it  would  mean  that  she  distrusted 
M.  de  Nueil.  Moreover,  he  had  taken  a great  fancy  to  this 
very  Valleroy  estate,  where  he  was  making  plantations  and 
improvements.  She  would  not  deprive  him  of  a piece  of 
pleasurable  routine-work,  such  as  women  always  wish  for  their 
husbands,  and  even  for  their  lovers. 

A Mile,  de  Rodiere,  twenty-two  years  of  age,  an  heiress 
with  a rent-roll  of  forty  thousand  livres,  had  come  to  live  in 
the  neighborhood.  Gaston  always  met  her  at  Manerville 
whenever  he  was  obliged  to  go  thither.  These  various  per- 
sonages being  to  each  other  as  the  terms  of  a proportion 
sum,  the  following  letter  will  throw  light  on  the  appalling 
problem  which  Mme.  de  Beauseant  had  been  trying  for  the 
past  month  to  solve : 

“ My  beloved  angel,  it  seems  like  nonsense,  does  it  not,  to 
write  to  you  when  there  is  nothing  to  keep  us  apart,  when  a 
caress  so  often  takes  the  place  of  words,  and  words  too  are 
caresses?  Ah,  well,  my  love.  There  are  some  things  that  a 
woman  cannot  say  when  she  is  face  to  face  with  the  man  she 
loves  ; at  the  bare  thought  of  them  her  voice  fails  her,  and 
the  blood  goes  back  to  her  heart ; she  has  no  strength,  no 
intelligence  left.  It  hurts  me  to  feel  like  this  when  you  are 
near  me,  and  it  happens  often.  I feel  that  my  heart  should 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN 


317 


be  wholly  sincere  for  you  ; that  I should  disguise  no  thought, 
however  transient,  in  my  heart ; and  I love  the  sweet  careless- 
ness, which  suits  me  so  well,  too  much  to  endure  this  embar- 
rassment and  constraint  any  longer.  So  I will  tell  you  about 
my  anguish — yes,  it  is  anguish.  Listen  to  me  ! do  not  begin 
with  the  little  ‘ Tut,  tut,  tut,’  that  you  use  to  silence  me,  an 
impertinence  that  I love,  because  anything  from  you  pleases 
me.  Dear  soul  from  heaven,  wedded  to  mine,  let  me  first  tell 
you  that  you  have  effaced  all  memory  of  the  pain  that  once 
was  crushing  the  life  out  of  me.  I did  not  know  what  love 
was  before  I knew  you.  Only  the  candor  of  your  beautiful 
young  life,  only  the  purity  of  that  great  soul  of  yours,  could 
satisfy  the  requirements  of  an  exacting  woman’s  heart.  Dear 
love,  how  very  often  I have  thrilled  with  joy  to  think  that  in 
these  nine  long,  swift  years,  my  jealousy  has  not  been  once 
awakened.  All  the  flowers  of  your  soul  have  been  mine,  all 
your  thoughts.  There  has  not  been  the  faintest  cloud  in  our 
heaven  ; we  have  not  known  what  sacrifice  is;  we  have  always 
acted  on  the  impulses  of  our'  hearts.  I have  known  happi- 
ness, infinite  for  a woman.  Will  the  tears  that  drench  this 
sheet  tell  you  all  my  gratitude?  I could  wish  that  I had 
knelt  to  write  the  words ! Well,  out  of  this  felicity  has  arisen 
torture  more  terrible  than  the  pain  of  desertion.  Dear,  there 
are  very  deep  recesses  in  a woman’s  heart ; how  deep  in  my 
own  heart,  I did  not  know  myself  until  to-day,  as  I did  not 
know  the  whole  extent  of  love.  The  greatest  misery  which 
could  overwhelm  us  is  a light  burden  compared  with  the  mere 
thought  of  harm  for  him  whom  we  love.  And  how  if  we 

cause  the  harm,  is  it  not  enough  to  make  one  die? This 

is  the  thought  that  is  weighing  upon  me.  But  it  brings  in 
its  train  another  thought  that  is  heavier  far,  a thought  that 
tarnishes  the  glory  of  love,  and  slays  it,  and  turns  it  into  a 
humiliation  which  sullies  life  as  long  as  it  lasts.  You  are 
thirty  years  old  ; I am  forty.  What  dread  this  difference  in 
age  calls  up  in  a woman  who  loves  ! It  is  possible  that,  first 


318 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


of  all  unconsciously,  afterwards  in  earnest,  you  have  felt  the 
sacrifices  that  you  have  made  by  renouncing  all  in  the  world 
for  me.  Perhaps  you  have  thought  of  your  future  from  the 
social  point  of  view,  of  the  marriage  which  would,  of  course, 
increase  your  fortune,  and  give  you  avowed  happiness  and 
children  who  would  inherit  your  wealth  ; perhaps  you  have 
thought  of  reappearing  in  the  world,  and  filling  your  place 
there  honorably.  And  then,  if  so,  you  must  have  repressed 
those  thoughts,  and  felt  glad  to  sacrifice  heiress  and  fortune 
and  a fair  future  to  me  without  my  knowledge.  In  your  young 
man’s  generosity,  you  must  have  resolved  to  be  faithful  to  the 
vows  which  bind  us  each  to  each  in  the  sight  of  God.  My 
past  pain  has  risen  up  before  your  mind,  and  the  misery  from 
which  you  rescued  me  has  been  my  protection.  To  owe 
your  love  to  your  pity  ! The  thought  is  even  more  painful  to 
me  than  the  fear  of  spoiling  your  life  for  you.  The  man  who 
can  bring  himself  to  stab  his  mistress  is  very  charitable  if  he 
gives  her  her  death-blow  while  she  is  happy  and  ignorant  of 

evil,  while  illusions  are  in  full'  blossom Yes,  death  is 

preferable  to  the  two  thoughts  which  have  secretly  saddened 
the  hours  for  several  days.  To-day,  when  you  asked  * What 
ails  you  ? ’ so  tenderly,  the  sound  of  your  voice  made  me 
shiver.  I thought  that,  after  your  wont,  you  were  reading  my 
very  soul,  and  I waited  for  your  confidence  to  come,  thinking 
that  my  presentiments  had  come  true,  and  that  I had  guessed 
at  all  that  was  going  on  in  your  mind.  Then  I began  to  think 
over  certain  little  things  that  you  always  do  for  me,  and  I 
thought  I could  see  in  you  the  sort  of  affectation  by  which  a 
man  betrays  a consciousness  that  his  loyalty  is  becoming  a 
burden.  And  in  that  moment  I paid  very  dear  for  my  happi- 
ness. I felt  that  nature  always  demands  the  price  for  the 
treasure  called  love.  Briefly,  has  not  fate  separated  us?  Can 
you  have  said,  * Sooner  or  later  I must  leave  poor  Claire  ; 
why  not  separate  in  time  ? ’ I read  that  thought  in  the 
depths  of  your  eyes,  and  went  away  to  cry  by  myself. 


A FORSAKEN  IVOMAN. 


319 


Hiding  my  tears  from  you  ! the  first  tears  that  I have  shed 
for  sorrow  for  these  ten  years;  I am  too  proud  to  let  you  see 
them,  but  I did  not  reproach  you  in  the  least. 

“Yes,  you  are  right.  I ought  not  to  be  so  selfish  as  to 
bind  your  long  and  brilliant  career  to  my  so-soon  worn-out 
life.  And  yet — how  if  I have  been  mistaken  ? How  if  I have 
taken  your  love  melancholy  for  a deliberation  ? Oh,  my  love, 
do  not  leave  me  in  suspense  ; punish  this  jealous  wife  of  yours, 
but  give  her  back  the  sense  of  her  love  and  yours ; the  whole 
woman  lies  in  that — that  consciousness  sanctifies  everything. 

“ Since  your  mother  came,  since  you  paid  a visit  to  Mile, 
de  Rodiere,  I have  been  gnawed  by  doubts  dishonoring  to  us 
both.  Make  me  suffer  for  this,  but  do  not  deceive  me ; I 
want  to  know  everything  that  your  mother  said  and  what  you 
think  ! If  you  have  hesitated  between  some  alternative  and 
me,  I give  you  back  your  liberty.  I will  not  let  you  know 
what  happens  to  me  ; I will  not  shed  tears  for  you  to  see ; 
only — I will  not  see  you  again.  Ah  ! I cannot  go  on,  my 
heart  is  breaking 

“ I have  been  sitting  benumbed  and  stupid  for  some  mo- 
ments. Dear  love,  I do  not  find  that  any  feeling  of  pride 
rises  against  you  ; you  are  so  kind-hearted,  so  open  ; you 
would  find  it  impossible  to  hurt  me  or  to  deceive  me;  and 
you  will  tell  me  the  truth,  however  cruel  it  may  be.  Do  you 
wish  me  to  encourage  your  confession?  Well,  then,  heart  of 
mine,  I shall  find  comfort  in  a woman’s  thought.  Has  not 
the  youth  of  your  being  been  mine,  your  sensitive,  wholly  gra- 
cious, beautiful,  and  delicate  youth?  No  woman  shall  find 
henceforth  the  Gaston  whom  I have  known,  nor  the  deli- 
cious happiness  that  he  has  given  me No ; you  will  never 

love  again  as  you  have  loved,  as  you  love  me  now ; no,  I shall 
never  have  a rival,  it  is  impossible.  There  will  be  no  bitter- 
ness in  my  memories  of  our  love,  and  I shall  think  of  nothing 
else.  It  is  out  of  your  power  to  enchant  any  woman  hence- 
forth by  the  childish  provocations,  the  charming  ways  of  a 


320 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


young  heart,  the  soul’s  winning  charm,  the  body’s  grace,  the 
swift  communion  of  rapture,  the  whole  divine  cortege  of 
young  love,  in  fine. 

“ Oh,  you  are  a man  now,  you  will  obey  your  destiny, 
weighing  and  considering  all  things.  You  will  have  cares, 
and  anxieties,  and  ambitions,  and  concerns  that  will  rob  her 
of  the  unchanging  smile  that  made  your  lips  fair  for  me. 
The  tones  that  were  always  so  sweet  for  me  will  be  troubled 
at  times ; and  your  eyes  that  lighted  up  with  radiance  from 
heaven  at  the  sight  of  me  will  often  be  lustreless  for  her. 
And  besides,  as  it  is  impossible  to  love  you  as  I love  you,  you 
will  never  care  for  that  woman  as  you  have  cared  for  me. 
She  will  never  keep  a constant  watch  over  herself  as  I have 
done ; she  will  never  study  your  happiness  at  every  moment 
with  an  intuition  which  has  never  failed  me.  Ah,  yes,  the 
man,  the  heart  and  soul,  which  I shall  have  known  will  exist 
no  longer.  I shall  bury  him  deep  in  my  memory,  that  I may 
have  the  joy  of  him  still ; I shall  live  happy  in  that  fair  past 
life  of  ours,  a life  hidden  from  all  but  our  inmost  selves. 

“ Dear  treasure  of  mine,  if  all  the  while  no  least  thought 
of  liberty  has  risen  in  your  mind,  if  my  love  is  no  burden  on 
you,  if  my  fears  are  chimerical,  if  I am  still  your  Eve — the 
one  woman  in  the  world  for  you — come  to  me  as  soon  as  you 
have  read  this  letter ; come  quickly  ! Ah  ! in  one  moment  I 
will  love  you  more  than  I have  ever  loved  you,  I think,  in 
these  nine  years.  After  enduring  the  needless  torture  of  these 
doubts  of  which  I am  accusing  myself,  every  added  day  of 
love,  yes,  every  single  day,  will  be  a whole  lifetime  of  bliss. 
So  speak,  and  speak  openly ; do  not  deceive  me,  it  would  be 
a crime.  Tell  me,  do  you  wish  for  your  liberty?  Have  you 
thought  of  all  that  a man’s  life  means  ? Is  there  any  regret 
in  your  mind  ? That  / should  cause  you  a regret  ! I should 
die  of  it.  I have  said  it : I love  you  enough  to  set  your 
happiness  above  mine,  your  life  before  my  own.  Leave  on 
one  side,  if  you  can,  the  wealth  of  memories  of  our  nine 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


321 


years’  happiness,  that  they  may  not  influence  your  decision, 
but  speak  ! I submit  myself  to  you  as  to  God,  the  one  Con- 
soler who  remains  if  you  forsake  me.” 

When  Mme.  de  Beauseant  knew  that  her  letter  was  in  M. 
de  Nueil’s  hands,  she  sank  in  such  utter  prostration,  the  over- 
pressure of  many  thoughts  so  numbed  her  faculties  that  she 
seemed  almost  drowsy.  At  any  rate,  she  was  suffering  from 
a pain  not  always  proportioned  in  its  intensity  to  a woman’s 
strength ; pain  which  women  alone  know.  And  while  the 
unhappy  Marquise  awaited  her  doom,  M.  de  Nueil,  reading 
her  letter,  felt  that  he  was  “in  a very  difficult  position,”  to 
use  the  expression  that  young  men  apply  to  a crisis  of  this 
kind. 

By  this  time  he  had  all  but  yielded  to  his  mother’s  impor- 
tunities and  to  the  attractions  of  Mile,  de  la  Rodiere,  a some- 
what insignificant,  pink-and-white  young  person,  as  straight  as 
a poplar.  It  is  true  that,  in  accordance  with  the  rules  laid 
down  for  marriageable  young  ladies,  she  scarcely  opened  her 
mouth,  but  her  rent-roll  of  forty  thousand  livres  spoke  quite 
sufficiently  for  her.  Mme.  de  Nueil,  with  a mother’s  sincere 
affection,  tried  to  entangle  her  son  in  virtuous  courses.  She 
called  his  attention  to  the  fact  that  it  was  a flattering  distinc- 
tion to  be  preferred  by  Mile,  de  la  Rodiere,  who  had  refused 
so  many  great  matches ; it  was  quite  time,  she  urged,  that  he 
should  think  of  his  future,  such  a good  opportunity  might  not 
repeat  itself,  some  day  he  would  have  eighty  thousand  livres  of 
income  from  land  ; money  made  anything  bearable  ; if  Mme. 
de  Beauseant  loved  him  for  his  own  sake,  she  ought  to  be  the 
first  to  urge  him  to  marry.  In  short,  the  well-intentioned 
mother  forgot  no  arguments  which  the  feminine  intellect  can 
bring  to  bear  upon  the  masculine  mind,  and  by  tf  ese  means 
she  had  brought  her  son  into  a wavering  condition. 

Mme.  de  Beauseant’s  letter  arrived  just  as  Gaston’s  love  of 
her  was  holding  out  against  the  temptations  of  a settled  life 
21 


322 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


conformable  to  received  ideas.  That  letter  decided  the  day. 
He  made  up  his  mind  to  break  off  with  the  Marquise  and  to 
marry. 

“ One  must  live  a man’s  life,”  said  he  to  himself. 

Then  followed  some  inkling  of  the  pain  that  this  decision 
would  give  to  Mme.  de  Beauseant.  The  man’s  vanity  and  the 
lover’s  conscience  further  exaggerated  this  pain,  and  a sincere 
pity  for  her  seized  upon  him.  All  at  once  the  immensity  of 
the  misery  became  apparent  to  him,  and  he  thought  it  neces- 
sary and  charitable  to  deaden  the  deadly  blow.  He  hoped  to 
bring  Mme.  de  Beauseant  to  a calm  frame  of  mind  by  grad- 
ually reconciling  her  to  the  idea  of  separation  ; while  Mile, 
de  la  Rodiere,  always  like  a shadowy  third  between  them, 
should  be  sacrificed  to  her  at  first,  only  to  be  imposed  upon 
her  later.  His  marriage  should  take  place  later,  in  obedience 
to  Mme.  de  Beauseant’s  expressed  wish.  He  went  so  far  as 
to  enlist  the  Marquise’s  nobleness  and  pride  and  all  the  great 
qualities  of  her  nature  to  help  him  to  succeed  in  this  com- 
passionate design.  He  would  write  a letter  at  once  to  allay 
her  suspicions.  A letter  ! For  a woman  with  the  most  ex- 
quisite feminine  perception,  as  well  as  the  intuition  of  pas- 
sionate love,  a letter  in  itself  was  a sentence  of  death. 

So  when  Jacques  came  and  brought  Mme.  de  Beauseant 
a sheet  of  paper  folded  in  a triangle,  she  trembled,  poor 
woman,  like  a snared  swallow.  A mysterious  sensation  of 
physical  cold  spread  from  head  to  foot,  wrapping  her  about 
in  an  icy  winding-sheet.  If  he  did  not  rush  to  her  feet,  if 
he  did  not  come  to  her  in  tears,  and  pale,  and  like  a lover, 
she  knew  that  all  was  lost.  And  yet,  so  many  hopes  are 
there  in  the  heart  of  a woman  who  loves,  that  she  is  only 
slain  by  stab  after  stab,  and  loves  on  till  the  last  drop  of 
life-blood  drains  away. 

“Does  madame  need  anything?”  Jacques  asked  gently,  as 
he  went  away. 

“No,”  she  said. 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


323 


“ Poor  fellow  ! ” she  thought,  brushing  a tear  from  her 
eyes,  “ he  guesses  my  feelings,  servant  though  he  is ! ” 

She  read:  “ My  beloved,  you  are  inventing  idle  terrors 

for  yourself ” The  Marquise  gazed  at  the  words,  and  a 

thick  mist  spread  before  her  eyes.  A voice  in  her  heart 
cried,  “He  lies ! 97  Then  she  glanced  down  the  page  with 
the  clairvoyant  eagerness  of  passion,  and  read  these  words  at 

the  foot,  “ Nothing  has  been  decided  as  yet ” Turning  to 

the  other  side  with  convulsive  quickness,  she  saw  the  mind  of 
the  writer  distinctly  through  the  intricacies  of  the  wording ; 
this  was  no  spontaneous  outburst  of  love.  She  crushed  it  in 
her  fingers,  twisted  it,  tore  it  with  her  teeth,  flung  it  in  the 
fire,  and  cried  aloud,  “Ah  ! base  that  he  is ! I was  his,  and 
he  has  ceased  to  love  me!” 

She  sank  half-dead  upon  the  couch. 

M.  de  Nueil  went  out  as  soon  as  he  had  written  his  letter. 
When  he  came  back,  Jacques  met  him  on  the  threshold  with 
a note.  “ Madame  la  Marquise  has  left  the  chateau,”  said 
the  man. 

M.  de  Nueil,  in  amazement,  broke  the  seal  and  read : 

“Madame: — If  I could  cease  to  love  you,  to  take  the 
chances  of  becoming  an  ordinary  man  which  you  hold  out  to 
me,  you  must  admit  that  I should  thoroughly  deserve  my  fate. 
No,  I shall  not  do  as  you  bid  me ; the  oath  of  fidelity  which 
I swear  to  you  shall  only  be  absolved  by  death.  Ah  ! take 
my  life,  unless  indeed  you  do  not  fear  to  carry  a remorse  all 
through  your  own ” 

It  was  his  own  letter,  written  to  the  Marquise  as  she  set  out 
for  Geneva  nine  years  before.  At  the  foot  of  it  Claire  de 
Bourgogne  had  written,  “ Monsieur,  you  are  free.” 

M.  de  Nueil  went  to  his  mother  at  Manerville.  In  less 
than  three  weeks  he  married  Mile.  Stephanie  de  la  Rodiere. 

If  this  commonplace  story  of  real  life  ended  here,  it  would 


324 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN 


be  to  some  extent  a sort  of  mystification.  The  first  man  you 
meet  can  tell  you  a better.  But  the  widespread  fame  of  the 
catastrophe  (for,  unhappily,  this  is  a true  tale),  and  all  the 
memories  which  it  may  arouse  in  those  who  have  known  the 
divine  delights  of  infinite  passion,  and  lost  them  by  their  own 
deed,  or  through  the  cruelty  of  fate — these  things  may  perhaps 
shelter  the  story  from  criticism. 

Mme.  la  Marquise  de  Beauseant  never  left  Valleroy  after 
her  parting  from  M.  de  Nueil.  After  his  marriage  she  still 
continued  to  live  there,  for  some  inscrutable  woman’s  reason ; 
any  woman  is  at  liberty  to  assign  the  one  which  most  appeals 
to  her.  Claire  de  Bourgogne  lived  in  such  complete  retire- 
ment that  none  of  the  servants,  save  Jacques  and  her  own 
woman,  ever  saw  their  mistress.  She  required  absolute  silence 
all  about  her,  and  only  left  her  room  to  go  to  the  chapel  on 
the  Valleroy  estate,  whither  a neighboring  priest  came  to  say 
mass  every  morning. 

The  Comte  de  Nueil  sank  a few  days  after  his  marriage  into 
something  like  conjugal  apathy,  which  might  be  interpreted 
to  mean  either  happiness  or  unhappiness. 

“ My  son  is  perfectly  happy,”  his  mother  said  everywhere. 

Mme.  Gaston  de  Nueil,  like  a great  many  young  women, 
was  a rather  colorless  character,  sweet  and  passive.  A month 
after  her  marriage  she  had  expectations  of  becoming  a mother. 
All  this  was  quite  in  accordance  with  ordinary  views.  M.  de 
Nueil  was  very  nice  to  her ; but  two  months  after  his  separation 
from  the  Marquise,  he  grew  notably  thoughtful  and  abstracted. 
But  then  he  always  had  been  serious,  his  mother  said. 

After  seven  months  of  this  tepid  happiness,  a little  thing 
occurred,  one  of  those  seemingly  small  matters  which  imply 
such  great  development  of  thought  and  such  widespread 
trouble  of  soul,  that  only  the  bare  fact  can  be  recorded ; 
the  interpretation  of  it  must  be  left  to  the  fancy  of  each 
individual  mind.  One  day,  when  M.  de  Nueil  had  been 
shooting  over  the  lands  of  Manerville  and  Valleroy,  he  crossed 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


325 


Mme.  de  Beauseant’s  park  on  his  way  home,  summoned 
Jacques,  and  when  the  man  came,  asked  him,  “ Whether  the 
Marquise  was  as  fond  of  game  as  ever  ? ’ ’ 

Jacques,  answering  in  the  affirmative,  Gaston  offered  him  a 
good  round  sum  (accompanied  by  plenty  of  specious  reason- 
ing) for  a very  little  service.  Would  he  set  aside  for  the 
Marquise  the  game  that  the  Count  would  bring?  It  seemed 
to  Jacques  to  be  a matter  of  no  great  importance  whether  the 
partridge  on  which  his  mistress  dined  had  been  shot  by  her 
keeper  or  by  M.  de  Nueil,  especially  since  the  latter  particu- 
larly wished  that  the  Marquise  should  know  nothing  about  it. 

“ It  was  killed  on  her  land,”  said  the  Count,  and  for  some 
days  Jacques  lent  himself  to  the  harmless  deceit.  Day  after 
day  M.  de  Nueil  went  shooting,  and  came  back  at  dinner- 
time with  an  empty  bag.  A whole  week  went  by  in  this  way. 
Gaston  grew  bold  enough  to  write  a long  letter  to  the  Mar- 
quise, and  had  it  conveyed  to  her.  It  was  returned  to  him 
unopened.  The  Marquise’s  servant  brought  it  back  about 
nightfall.  The  Count,  sitting  in  the  drawing-room  listening, 
while  his  wife  at  the  piano  mangled  a Caprice  of  Herold’s, 
suddenly  sprang  up  and  rushed  to  the  Marquise,  as  if  he  were 
flying  to  an  assignation.  He  dashed  through  a well-known 
gap  into  the  park,  and  went  slowly  along  the  avenues,  stop- 
ping now  and  again  for  a little  to  still  the  rapid  beatings  of  his 
heart.  Smothered  sounds  as  he  came  nearer  the  chateau  told 
him  that  the  servants  must  be  at  supper,  and  he  went  straight 
to  Mme.  de  Beauseant’s  room. 

Mme.  de  Beauseant  never  left  her  bedroom.  M.  de  Nueil 
could  gain  the  doorway  without  making  the  slightest  sound. 
There,  by  the  light  of  two  wax-candles,  he  saw  the  thin, 
white  Marquise  in  a great  armchair;  her  head  wras  bowed, 
her  hands  hung  listlessly,  her  eyes  gazing  fixedly  at  some 
object  which  she  did  not  seem  to  see.  Her  whole  attitude 
spoke  of  hopeless  pain.  There  was  a vague  something  like 
hope  in  her  bearing,  but  it  was  impossible  to  say  whither 


326 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


Claire  de  Bourgogne  was  looking — forwards  to  the  tomb  or 
backwards  into  the  past.  Perhaps  M.  de  Nueil’s  tears  glit- 
tered in  the  deep  shadows ; perhaps  his  breathing  sounded 
faintly;  perhaps  unconsciously  he  trembled,  or  again  it  may 
have  been  impossible  that  he  should  stand  there,  his  presence 
unfelt  by  that  quick  sense  which  grows  to  be  an  instinct,  the 
glory,  the  delight,  the  proof  of  perfect  love.  However  it 
was,  Mme.  de  Beauseant  slowly  turned  her  face  towards  the 
doorway,  and  beheld  her  lover  of  bygone  days.  Then  Gaston 
de  Nueil  came  forward  a few  paces. 

“If  you  come  any  farther,  sir/’  exclaimed  the  Marquise, 
growing  paler,  “ I shall  fling  myself  out  of  the  window  ! ” 

She  sprang  to  the  window,  flung  it  open,  and  stood  with 
one  foot  on  the  ledge,  her  hand  upon  the  iron  balustrade,  her 
face  turned  towards  Gaston. 

“Go  out!  go  out!”  she  cried,  “or  I will  throw  myself 
over.” 

At  that  dreadful  cry  the  servants  began  to  stir,  and  M.  de 
Nueil  fled  like  a criminal. 

When  he  reached  his  home  again  he  wrote  a few  lines  and 
gave  them  to  his  own  man,  telling  him  to  give  the  letter  him- 
self into  Mme.  de  Beauseant’s  hands,  and  to  say  that  it  was  a 
matter  of  life  and  death  for  his  master.  The  messenger  went. 
M.  de  Nueil  went  back  to  the  drawing-room  where  his  wife 
was  still  murdering  the  Caprice , and  sat  down  to  wait  until 
the  answer  came.  An  hour  later,  when  the  Caprice  had  come 
to  an  end,  and  the  husband  and  wife  sat  in  silence  on  opposite 
sides  of  the  hearth,  the  man  came  back  from  Valleroy  and 
gave  his  master  his  own  letter,  unopened. 

M.  de  Nueil  then  arose,  went  into  a small  room  beyond 
the  drawing-room,  where  he  had  left  his  rifle,  and  shot 
himself. 

The  swift  and  fatal  ending  of  the  drama,  contrary  as  it 
is  to  all  the  habits  of  young  France,  is  only  what  might  have 
been  expected.  Those  who  have  closely  observed,  or  known 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


32 1 


for  themselves  by  delicious  experience,  all  that  is  meant  by 
the  perfect  union  of  two  beings,  will  understand  Gaston  de 
Nueil’s  suicide  perfectly  well.  A woman  does  not  bend  and 
form  herself  in  a day  to  the  caprices  of  passion.  The  pleasure 
of  loving,  like  some  rare  flower,  needs  the  most  careful  inge- 
nuity of  culture.  Time  alone,  and  two  souls  attuned  each  to 
each,  can  discover  all  its  resources,  and  call  into  being  all 
the  tender  and  delicate  delights  for  which  we  are  steeped  in  a 
thousand  superstitions,  imagining  them  to  be  inherent  in  the 
heart  that  lavishes  them  upon  us.  It  is  this  wonderful  re- 
sponse of  one  nature  to  another,  this  religious  belief,  this 
certainty  of  finding  peculiar  or  excessive  happiness  in  the 
presence  of  one  we  love,  that  accounts  in  part  for  perdurable 
attachments  and  long-lived  passion.  If  a woman  possesses 
the  genius  of  her  sex,  love  never  comes’to  be  a matter  of  use 
and  wont.  She  brings  all  her  heart  and  brain  to  love,  clothes 
her  tenderness  in  forms  so  varied,  there  is  such  art  in  her 
most  natural  movements,  or  so  much  nature  in  her  art,  that  in 
absence  her  memory  is  almost  as  potent  as  her  presence.  All 
other  women  are  as  shadows  compared  with  her.  Not  until 
we  have  lost  01  known  the  dread  of  losing  a love  so  vast  and 
glorious,  do  we  prize  it  at  its  just  worth.  And  if  a man  who 
has  once  possessed  this  love  shuts  himself  out  from  it  by  his 
own  act  and  deed,  and  sinks  to  some  loveless  marriage ; if, 
by  some  incident,  hidden  in  the  obscurity  of  married  life,  the 
woman  with  whom  he  hoped  to  know  the  same  felicity  makes 
it  clear  that  it  will  never  be  revived  for  him ; if,  with  the 
sweetness  of  divine  love  still  on  his  lips,  he  has  dealt  a deadly 
wound  to  her,  his  wife  in  truth,  whom  he  forsook  for  a social 
chimera — then  he  must  either  die  or  take  refuge  in  a material- 
istic, selfish,  and  heartless  philosophy,  from  which  impassioned 
souls  shrink  in  horror. 

As  for  Mme.  de  Beauseant,  she  doubtless  did  not  imagine 
that  her  friend’s  despair  could  drive  him  to  suicide,  when  he 


328 


A FORSAKEN  WOMAN. 


bad  drunk  deep  of  love  for  nine  years.  Possibly  she  may 
have  thought  that  she  alone  was  to  suffer.  At  any  rate,  she 
did  quite  rightly  to  refuse  the  most  humiliating  of  all  posi- 
tions ; a wife  may  stoop  for  weighty  social  reasons  to  a kind 
of  compromise  which  a mistress  is  bound  to  hold  in  abhor- 
rence, for  in  the  purity  of  her  passion  lies  all  its  justification, 

Angouleme,  September , 1832. 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 

(La  Fausse  Maitresse. ) 

Dedicated  to  the  Comtes se  Clara  Maffei. 

In  the  month  of  September,  1835,  one  of  the  richest 
heiresses  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  Mademoiselle  du 
Rouvre,  the  only  child  of  the  Marquis  du  Rouvre,  married 
Count  Adam  Mitgislas  Laginski,  a young  Polish  exile. 

I allow  myself  to  spell  the  names  as  they  are  pronounced, 
to  spare  the  reader  the  sight  of  the  fortifications  of  conso- 
nants by  which,  in  the  Slav  languages,  the  vowels  are  pro- 
tected, no  doubt  to  secure  them  against  loss,  seeing  how  few 
they  are. 

The  Marquis  du  Rouvre  had  dissipated  almost  the  whole 
of  one  of  the  finest  fortunes  of  the  nobility,  to  which  he  had 
formerly  owed  his  alliance  with  a Mademoiselle  de  Ronque- 
rolles.  Hence  Clementine  had  for  her  uncle,  on  her  mother’s 
side,  the  Marquis  de  Ronquerolles,  and  for  her  aunt  Madame 
de  Serizy.  On  her  father’s  side  she  possessed  another  uncle  in 
the  eccentric  person  of  the  Chevalier  du  Rouvre,  the  younger 
son  of  the  house,  an  old  bachelor  who  had  grown  rich  by 
speculations  in  land  and  houses. 

The  Marquis  de  Ronquerolles  was  so  unhappy  as  to  lose 
both  his  children  during  the  visitation  of  cholera.  Madame 
de  Serizy’s  only  son,  a young  officer  of  the  highest  promise, 
was  killed  in  Africa  at  the  fight  by  the  Macta.  In  these  days 
rich  families  run  the  risk  of  ruining  their  children  if  they 
have  too  many,j  or  of  becoming  extinct  if  they  have  but  one 
or  two,  a singular  result  of  the  Civil  Code  not  foreseen  by 
Napoleon.  Thus,  by  accident,  and  in  spite  of  Monsieur  du 

(329) 


330 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


Rouvre’s  reckless  extravagances  for  Florine,  one  of  the  most 
charming  of  Paris  actresses,  Clementine  had  become  an  heir- 
ess. The  Marquis  de  Ronquerolles,  one  of  the  most  accom- 
plished diplomats  of  the  new  dynasty,  his  sister,  Madame  de 
Serizy,  and  the  Chevalier  du  Rouvre  agreed  that,  to  rescue 
their  fortunes  from  the  Marquis’  clutches,  they  would  leave 
them  to  their  niece,  to  whom  they  each  promised  ten  thousand 
francs  a year  on  her  marriage. 

It  is  quite  unnecessary  to  say  that  the  Pole,  though  a refu- 
gee, cost  the  French  government  absolutely  nothing.  Count 
Adam  belonged  to  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  illustrious  fami- 
lies of  Poland,  connected  with  most  of  the  princely  houses 
of  Germany,  with  the  Sapiehas,  the  Radziwills,  the  Mniszechs, 
the  Rzewuskis,  the  Czartoryskis,  the  Leszinskis,  the  Lubomir- 
skis ; in  short,  all  the  great  Sarmatian  skis.  But  a knowledge  of 
heraldry  is  not  a strong  point  in  France  under  Louis  Philippe, 
and  such  nobility  could  be  no  recommendation  to  the  bour- 
geoisie then  in  power.  Besides,  when,  in  1833,  Adam  made  his 
appearance  on  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens,  at  Frascati’s,  at  the 
Jockey  Club,  he  led  the  life  of  a man  who,  having  lost  his 
political  prospects,  falls  back  on  his  vices  and  his  love  of 
pleasure.  He  was  taken  for  a student. 

The  Polish  nationality,  as  the  result  of  an  odious  govern- 
ment reaction,  had  fallen  as  low  as  the  Republicans  had  tried 
to  think  it  high.  The  strange  struggle  of  move?nent  against 
resistance — two  words  which  thirty  years  hence  will  be  inex- 
plicable— made  a farce  of  what  ought  to  have  been  so  worthy  : 
the  name,  that  is,  of  a vanquished  nation  to  which  France 
gave  hospitality,  for  which  entertainments  were  devised,  for 
which  every  one  danced  or  sang  by  subscription ; a nation,  in 
short,  which  at  the  time  when,  in  1 796,  Europe  was  fighting 
France,  had  offered  her  six  thousand  men,  and  such  men  ! 

Do  not  conclude  from  this  that  I mean  to  represent  the 
Emperor  Nicholas  as  being  in  the  wrong  as  regards  Poland, 
or  Poland  as  regards  the  Emperor  Nicholas.  In  the  first  place, 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


331 


it  would  be  a silly  thing  enough  to  slip  a political  discussion 
into  a tale  which  ought  to  interest  or  to  amuse.  Besides, 
Russia  and  Poland  were  equally  right : one  for  aiming  at  unity 
of  empire,  the  other  for  desiring  to  be  free  again.  It  may 
be  said,  in  passing,  that  Poland  might  have  conquered  Russia 
by  the  influence  of  manners  instead  of  beating  her  with 
weapons ; thus  imitating  the  Chinese,  who  at  last  Chinesi- 
fied  the  Tartars,  and  who,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  will  do  the  same 
by  the  English.  Poland  ought  to  have  polished  the  Russians ; 
Poniatowski  had  tried  it  in  the  least  temperate  district  of  the 
empire.  But  that  gentleman  was  a misunderstood  king — all 
the  more  so  because  he  did  not,  perhaps,  understand  himself. 

How  was  it  possible  not  to  hate  the  poor  people  who  were 
the  cause  of  the  horrible  deceit  committed  on  the  occasion  of 
the  review  when  all  Paris  was  eager  to  rescue  Poland  ? People 
affected  to  regard  the  Poles  as  allies  of  the  Republican  party, 
forgetting  that  Poland  was  an  aristocratic  republic.  Thence- 
forth the  party  of  wealth  poured  ignoble  contempt  on  the 
Pole,  who  had  been  deified  but  a few  days  since.  The  wind 
of  a riot  has  always  blown  the  Parisians  round  from  north  to 
south  under  every  form  of  government.  This  weathercock 
temper  of  Paris  opinion  must  be  remembered  if  we  would 
understand  how,  in  1835,  the  name  of  Pole  was  a word  of 
ridicule  among  the  race  who  believe  themselves  to  be  the 
wittiest  and  politest  in  the  world,  and  its  central  luminary, 
in  a city  which,  at  this  day,  wields  the  sceptre  of  art  and 
literature. 

There  are,  alas  ! two  types  of  Polish  refugees — the  repub- 
lican Pole,  the  son  of  Lelewel,  and  the  noble  Pole  of  the 
party  led  by  Prince  Czartoryski.  These  two  kinds  of  Pole 
are  as  fire  and  water,  but  why  blame  them  ? Are  not  such 
divisions  always  to  be  observed  among  refugees  whatever 
nation  they  belong  to,  and  no  matter  what  country  they  go 
to  ? They  carry  their  country  and  their  hatreds  with  them. 
At  Brussels  two  French  emigrant  priests  expressed  the  greatest 


332 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


aversion  for  each  other ; and  when  one  of  them  was  asked  his 
reasons,  he  replied,  pointing  to  his  companion  in  misery,  “ He 
is  a Jansenist  ! ” Dante,  in  his  exile,  would  gladly  have 
stabbed  any  adversary  of  the  “Bianchi.”  In  this  lies  the  rea- 
son of  the  attacks  made  on  the  venerable  Prince  Adam  Czar" 
toryski  by  the  French  radicals,  and  that  of  the  disapproval 
shown  to  a section  of  the  Polish  emigrants  by  the  Caesars  of 
the  counter  and  the  Alexanders  by  letters  patent. 

In  1834  Adam  Mitgislas  Laginski  was  the  butt  of  Parisian 
witticisms.  “ He  is  a nice  fellow  though  he  is  a Pole,”  said 
Rastignac.  “ All  the  Poles  are  great  lords,”  said  Maxime  de 
Trailles,  “ but  this  one  pays  his  gambling  debts ; I begin  to 
think  that  he  must  have  had  an  estate.” 

And  without  offense  to  the  exiles,  it  may  be  remarked  that 
the  levity,  the  recklessness,  the  fluidity  of  the  Sarmatian  char- 
acter justified  the  calumnies  of  the  Parisians,  who,  indeed, 
in  similar  circumstances,  would  be  exactly  like  the  Poles. 
The  French  aristocracy,  so  admirably  supported  by  the  Polish 
aristocracy  during  the  Revolution,  certainly  made  no  equiva- 
lent return  to  those  who  were  forced  to  emigrate  in  1832. 
We  must  have  the  melancholy  courage  to  say  that,  in  this,  the 
Faubourg  Saint-Germain  remains  Poland’s  debtor. 

Was  Count  Adam  rich,  was  he  poor,  was  he  an  adventurer  ? 
The  problem  long  remained  unsolved.  Diplomatic  circles, 
faithful  to  their  instructions,  imitated  the  silence  observed  by 
the  Emperor  Nicholas,  who  at  that  time  counted  every  Polish 
emigrant  as  dead.  The  Tuileries,  and  most  of  those  who 
took  their  cue  from  thence,  gave  an  odious  proof  of  this  char- 
acteristic policy  dignified  by  the  name  of  prudence.  A 
Russian  prince,  with  whom  they  had  smoked  many  cigars  at 
the  time  of  the  emigration,  was  ignored  because,  as  it  seemed, 
he  had  fallen  into  disgrace  with  the  Emperor  Nicholas. 

Thus  placed  between  the  prudence  of  the  court  and  that  of 
diplomatic  circles,  Poles  of  good  family  lived  in  the  Biblical 
solitude  of  Super  ftumina  Babylonis , or  frequented  certain 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


333 


drawing-rooms  which  served  as  neutral  territory  for  every 
variety  of  opinion.  In  a city  of  pleasure  like  Paris,  where 
amusement  is  to  be  had  in  every  rank,  Polish  recklessness 
found  twice  as  many  pretexts  as  it  needed  for  leading  a dis- 
sipated bachelor  life.  Besides,  it  must  be  said  that  Count 
Adam  Laginski  had  against  him  at  first  both  his  appearance 
and  his  manners. 

There  are  two  types  of  Pole,  as  there  are  two  types  of 
Englishwoman.  When  an  Englishwoman  is  not  a beauty,  she 
is  horribly  ugly — and  Count  Adam  belongs  to  the  second  cate- 
gory. His  face  is  small,  somewhat  sour,  and  looks  as  if  it  had 
been  squeezed  in  a vise.  His  short  nose,  fair  hair,  red  mus- 
tache and  beard  give  him  the  expression  of  a goat;  all  the 
more  so  because  he  is  short  and  thin,  and  his  eyes,  tinged 
with  dingy  yellow,  startle  you  by  the  oblique  leer  which  Vir- 
gil’s line  has  made  famous.  How  is  it  that,  in  spite  of  such 
unfavorable  conditions,  he  has  such  exquisite  manners  and 
style?  The  solution  of  this  mystery  is  given  by  his  dress, 
that  of  a finished  dandy,  and  by  the  education  he  owes  to  his 
mother,  a Radziwill.  If  his  courage  carries  him  to  the  point 
of  rashness,  his  mind  is  not  above  the  current  and  trivial 
pleasantries  of  Paris  conversation  ; still,  he  does  not  often 
find  a young  fellow  who  is  his  superior  among  men  of  fashion. 
These  young  men  nowadays  talk  far  too  much  of  horses,  in- 
come, taxes,  and  deputies,  for  French  conversation  to  be  what 
it  once  was.  Wit  needs  leisure,  and  certain  inequalities  of 
position.  Conversation  is  better  perhaps  at  St.  Petersburg 
and  Vienna  than  it  is  in  Paris.  Equals  need  no  subtleties ; 
they  tell  each  other  everything  straight  out,  just  as  it  is. 
Hence  the  ironical  laughters  of  Paris  could  scarcely  discern  a 
man  of  family  in  a light-hearted  student,  as  he  seemed,  who 
in  talking  passed  carelessly  from  one  subject  to  another,  who 
pursued  amusement  with  all  the  more  frenzy  because  he  had 
just  escaped  from  great  perils,  and  who,  having  left  the  coun- 
try where  his  family  was  known,  thought  himself  at  liberty  to 


334 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


lead  an  irresponsible  life  without  risking  a loss  of  considera- 
tion. 

One  fine  day  in  1834,  Adam  bought  a large  house  in  the 
Rue  de  la  Pepiniere.  Six  months  later  it  was  on  as  handsome 
a footing  as  the  richest  houses  in  Paris.  Just  at  the  time 
when  Laginski  was  beginning  to  be  taken  seriously  he  saw 
Clementine  at  the  Italian  opera,  and  fell  in  love  with  her.  A 
year  later  he  married  her.  Madame  d’Espard’s  circle  set  the 
fashion  of  approval.  Mothers  of  families  then  learned,  too 
late,  that  ever  since  the  year  900,  the  Laginskis  had  ranked 
with  the  most  illustrious  families  of  the  north.  By  a stroke 
of  prudence,  most  unlike  a Pole,  the  young  Count’s  mother 
had,  at  the  beginning  of  the  rebellion,  mortgaged  her  estates 
for  an  immense  sum  advanced  by  two  Jewish  houses,  and  in- 
vested in  the  French  funds.  Count  Adam  Laginski  had  an 
income  of  more  than  eighty  thousand  francs.  This  put  an 
end  to  the  astonishment  expressed  in  some  drawing-rooms  at 
the  rashness  of  Madame  de  Serizy,  of  old  de  Ronquerolles, 
and  of  the  Chevalier  du  Rouvre  in  yielding  to  their  niece’s 
mad  passion. 

As  usual,  the  world  rushed  from  one  extreme  to  the  other. 
During  the  winter  of  1836,  Count  Adam  became  the  fashion, 
and  Clementine  Laginski  one  of  the  queens  of  Paris.  Mad- 
ame de  Laginski,  at  the  present  time,  is  one  of  the  charming 
group  of  young  married  women  among  whom  shine  Mesdames 
de  Lestorade,  de  Portendu£re,  Marie  de  Vandenesse,  du 
Guenic,  and  de  Maufrigneuse,  the  very  flower  of  Paris  society, 
who  live  high  above  the  parvenus,  bourgeois,  and  wire-pullers 
of  recent  politics. 

This  preamble  was  needful  to  define  the  sphere  in  which 
was  carried  through  one  of  those  sublime  efforts,  less  rare 
than  the  detractors  of  the  present  time  imagine — pearls  hid- 
den in  rough  shells,  and  lost  in  the  depths  of  that  abyss,  that 
ocean,  that  never-resting  tide  called  the  world — the  age — 
Paris,  London,  or  St.  Petersburg — whichever  you  will. 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS.  S3-: 

If  ever  the  truth  that  architecture  is  the  expression  of  the 
manners  of  a race  was  fully  demonstrated,  is  it  not  since  the 
revolution  of  1830,  under  the  reign  of  the  House  of  Orleans? 
Great  fortunes  have  shrunk  in  France,  and  majestic  mansions 
of  our  fathers  are  constantly  being  demolished  and  replaced 
by  a sort  of  tenement-houses,  in  which  a peer  of  France  of 
July  dwells  on  the  third  floor,  over  some  newly  enriched 
empiric.  Styles  are  mingled  in  confusion.  As  there  is  no 
longer  any  court,  any  nobility  to  set  a “tone,”  no  harmony 
is  to  be  seen  in  the  productions  of  art.  On  the  other  hand, 
architecture  has  never  found  more  economical  tricks  for  imi- 
tating what  is  genuine  and  thorough,  never  displayed  more 
ingenuity  and  resource  in  arrangement.  Ask  an  artist  to  deal 
with  a strip  of  the  garden  of  an  old  “ hotel  ” now  destroyed, 
and  he  will  build  you  a little  Louvre  crushed  under  its  orna- 
mentation ; he  will  give  you  a courtyard,  stables,  and,  if  you 
insist,  a garden  ; inside  he  contrives  such  a number  of  little 
rooms  and  corridors,  and  cheats  the  eye  so  effectually,  that 
you  fancy  yourself  comfortable  ; in  fact,  there  are  so  many 
bedrooms  that  a ducal  retinue  can  live  and  move  in  what 
was  only  the  bake-house  of  a president  of  a law  court. 

The  Comtesse  Laginski’s  house  is  one  of  these  modern 
structures,  with  a courtyard  in  front  and  a garden  behind. 
To  the  right  of  the  courtyard  are  the  servants’  quarters,  bal- 
anced on  the  left  by  the  stables  and  coach-houses.  The  por- 
ter’s lodge  stands  between  two  handsome  gates.  The  chief 
luxury  of  this  house  consists  in  a delightful  conservatory  at 
the  end  of  a boudoir  on  the  ground-floor,  where  all  the 
beautiful  reception-rooms  are.  It  was  a philanthropist  driven 
out  of  England  who  built  this  architectural  gem,  constructed 
the  conservatory,  planned  the  garden,  varnished  the  doors, 
paved  the  out-buildings  with  brick,  filled  the  windows  with 
green  glass,  and  realized  a vision  like  that — in  due  proportion 
— of  George  IV.  at  Brighton.  The  inventive,  industrious, 
and  ready  Paris  artisan  had  carved  his  doors  and  window- 


336 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


frames;  his  ceilings  were  imitated  from  those  of  the  middle 
ages  or  of  Venetian  palaces,  and  there  was  a lavish  outlay  of 
marble  slabs  in  external  paneling.  Steinbock  and  Francois 
Souchet  had  carved  the  cornices  of  the  doors  and  chimney- 
shelves  ; Schinner  had  painted  the  ceilings  with  the  brush  of 
a master.  The  wonders  of  the  stairs — marble  as  white  as  a 
woman’s  arm — successfully  defied  those  of  the  famous  Hotel 
Rothschild. 

In  consequence  of  the  disturbances,  the  price  of  this  folly 
was  not  more  than  eleven  hundred  thousand  francs.  For  an 
Englishman  this  was  giving  it  away.  All  this  splendor,  called 
princely  by  people  who  do  not  know  what  a real  prince  is, 
stood  in  the  garden  of  a contractor — a Croesus  of  the  Revolu- 
tion, who  had  died  at  Brussels  a bankrupt  after  a sudden  con- 
vulsion of  the  Bourse.  The  Englishman  died  at  Paris — died 
of  Paris — for  to  many  people  Paris  is  a disease ; sometimes  it 
is  several  diseases.  His  widow,  a Methodist,  had  a perfect 
horror  of  the  nabob’s  little  house — this  philanthropist  had 
been  a dealer  in  opium.  The  virtuous  widow  ordered  that 
the  scandalous  property  should  be  sold  just  at  the  time  when 
the  disturbances  made  peace  doubtful  on  any  terms.  Count 
Adam  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity  ; and  you  shall  be 
told  how  it  happened,  for  nothing  could  be  less  consonant 
with  his  lordly  habits. 

Behind  this  house,  built  of  stone  fretted  like  a melon, 
spreads  the  green  velvet  of  an  English  lawn,  shaded  at  the 
farther  end  by  an  elegant  clump  of  exotic  trees,  among  which 
rises  a Chinese  pavilion  with  its  mute  bells  and  pendent  gilt 
eggs.  The  greenhouse  and  its  fantastic  decorations  screen 
the  outer  wall  on  the  south  side.  The  other  wall,  opposite 
the  greenhouse,  is  hung  with  creepers  grown  in  arcades  over 
poles  and  cross-beams  painted  green.  This  meadow,  this 
realm  of  flowers,  these  graveled  paths,  this  mimic  forest,  these 
aerial  trellises  cover  an  area  of  about  twenty-five  square 
perches,  of  which  the  present  value  would  be  four  hundred 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


337 


thousand  francs,  as  much  as  a real  forest.  In  the  heart  of 
this  silence  won  from  Paris  birds  sing ; there  are  blackbirds, 
nightingales,  bullfinches,  chaffinches,  and  numbers  of  spar- 
rows. The  conservatory  is  a vast  flower-bed,  where  the  air 
is  loaded  with  perfume,  and  where  you  may  walk  in  winter  as 
though  summer  was  blazing  with  all  its  fires.  The  means  by 
which  an  atmosphere  is  produced  at  will  of  the  tropics,  China 
or  Italy,  are  ingeniously  concealed  from  view.  The  pipes  in 
which  the  boiling  water  circulates — the  steam,  hot  air,  what- 
not— are  covered  with  soil,  and  look  like  garlands  of  growing 
flowers. 

The  boudoir  is  spacious.  On  a small  plot  of  ground  the 
miracle  wrought  by  the  Paris  fairy  called  Architecture  is  to 
produce  everything  on  a large  scale.  The  young  Countess’ 
boudoir  was  the  pride  of  the  artist  to  whom  Count  Adam  in- 
trusted the  task  of  redecorating  the  house.  To  sin  there 
would  be  impossible,  there  are  too  many  pretty  trifles.  Love 
would  not  know  where  to  alight  amid  work-tables  of  Chinese 
carving,  where  the  eye  can  find  thousands  of  droll  little  figures 
wrought  in  the  ivory — the  outcome  of  the  toil  of  two  families 
of  Chinese  artists ; vases  of  burnt  topaz  mounted  on  filigree 
stands ; mosaics  that  invite  to  theft ; Dutch  pictures,  such  as 
Schinner  now  paints  again;  angels  imagined  as  Steinbock 
conceives  of  them  (but  does  not  always  work  them  out  him- 
self) ; statuettes  executed  by  geniuses  pursued  by  creditors 
(the  true  interpretation  of  the  Arab  myths)  ; sublime  first 
sketches  by  our  greatest  artists ; fronts  of  carved  chests  let 
into  the  wainscot,  and  alternating  with  the  inventions  of 
India  embroidery ; gold-colored  curtains  draped  over  the 
doors  from  an  architrave  of  black  oak  wrought  with  the 
swarming  figures  of  a hunting  scene ; chairs  and  tables 
worthy  of  Madame  de  Pompadour ; a Persian  carpet,  and 
so  forth.  And  finally,  as  a crowning  touch,  all  this  splendor, 
seen  under  a softened  light  filtering  in  through  lace  curtains, 
looks  all  the  more  beautiful.  On  a marble  slab,  among  some 
22 


338 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


antiques,  a lady’s  whip,  with  a handle  carved  by  Mademoiselle 
de  Fauveau,  shows  that  the  Countess  is  fond  of  riding. 

Such  is  a boudoir  in  1837,  a display  of  property  to  divert 
the  eye,  as  though  ennui  threatened  to  invade  the  most  rest- 
less and  unresting  society  in  the  world.  Why  is  there  nothing 
individual,  intimate,  nothing  to  invite  reverie  and  repose? 
Why  ? Because  no  one  is  sure  of  the  morrow,  and  every  one 
enjoys  life  as  a prodigal  spends  a life-interest. 

One  morning  Clementine  affected  a meditative  air,  as  she 
lounged  on  one  of  those  deep  siesta  chairs  from  which  we 
cannot  bear  to  rise,  so  cleverly  has  the  upholsterer  who  in- 
vented them  contrived  to  fit  them  to  the  curves  of  laziness 
and  the  comfort  of  the  Dolce  far  niente . The  doors  to  the 
conservatory  were  open,  admitting  the  scent  of  vegetation 
and  the  perfumes  of  the  tropics.  The  young  wife  watched 
Adam,  who  was  smoking  an  elegant  narghileh,  the  only  form 
of  pipe  she  allowed  in  this  room.  Over  the  other  door,  cur- 
tains, caught  back  by  handsome  ropes,  showed  two  magnifi- 
cent rooms  beyond : one  in  white  and  gold,  resembling  that 
of  the  Hotel  Forbin-Janson,  the  other  in  the  taste  of  the 
Renaissance.  The  dining-room,  unrivaled  in  Paris  by  any 
but  that  of  the  Baron  de  Nucingen,  is  at  the  end  of  a corri- 
dor, with  a ceiling  and  walls  decorated  in  a mediaeval  style. 
This  corridor  is  reached,  on  the  courtyard  front,  through  a 
large  anteroom,  through  whose  glass  door  the  splendor  of 
the  stairs  is  seen. 

The  Count  and  Countess  had  just  breakfasted  ; the  sky  was 
a sheet  of  blue  without  a cloud ; the  month  of  April  was 
drawing  to  a close.  The  household  had  already  known  two 
years  of  happiness,  and  now,  only  two  days  since,  Clementine 
had  discovered  in  her  home  something  resembling  a secret,  a 
mystery.  A Pole,  let  it  be  repeated  to  his  honor,  is  generally 
weak  in  the  presence  of  a woman  ; he  is  so  full  of  tenderness 
that,  in  Poland,  he  becomes  her  inferior ; and  though  Polish 
women  are  admirable  creatures,  a Pole  is  even  more  quickly 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


339 


routed  by  a Parisienne.  Hence,  Count  Adam,  pressed  hard 
with  questions,  had  not  enough  artless  cunning  to  sell  his 
secret  dear  to  his  wife.  With  a woman  there  is  always  some- 
thing to  be  got  for  a secret ; and  she  likes  you  the  better  for 
it,  as  a rogue  respects  an  honest  man  whom  he  has  failed  to 
take  in.  The  Count,  more  ready  with  his  sword  than  with 
his  tongue,  only  stipulated  that  he  should  not  be  required  to 
answer  till  he  had  finished  his  narghileh  full  of  tombaki. 

“When  we  were  traveling,”  said  she,  “you  replied  to 
every  difficulty  by  saying,  ‘ Paz  will  see  to  that  ! ’ You 
never  wrote  to  anybody  but  Paz.  On  my  return,  every  one 
refers  me  to  the  captain.  I want  to  go  out.  The  captain  ! 
Is  there  a bill  to  be  paid!  The  captain.  If  my  horse’s 
pace  is  rough,  they  will  speak  to  Captain  Paz.  In  short, 
here  I feel  as  if  it  were  a game  of  dominoes;  everywhere 
Paz ! I hear  no  one  talked  of  but  Paz,  but  I can  never  see 
Paz.  What  is  Paz  ? Let  our  Paz  be  brought  to  see  me.” 

“Then  is  not  everything  as  it  ought  to  be?”  said  the 
Count,  relinquishing  the  mouthpiece  of  his  narghileh. 

“ Everything  is  so  quite  what  it  ought  to  be,  that  if  we 
had  two  hundred  thousand  francs  a year,  we  should  be  ruined 
by  living  in  the  way  we  do  with  a hundred  and  ten  thou- 
sand,” said  she.  She  pulled  the  bell-handle  embroidered  in 
tent-stitch,  a marvel  of  skill.  A manservant  dressed  like  a 
Minister  at  once  appeared. 

“ Tell  Monsieur  le  Capitaine  Paz  that  I wish  to  speak  to 
him,”  said  she. 

“If  you  fancy  you  will  find  anything  out  in  that  way ” 

said  Count  Adam  with  a smile. 

It  may  be  useful  to  say  that  Adam  and  Clementine,  married 
in  December,  1835,  after  spending  the  winter  in  Paris,  had 
during  1836  traveled  in  Italy,  Switzerland,  and  Germany. 
They  returned  home  in  November,  and  during  the  winter  just 
past  the  Countess  had  for  the  first  time  received  her  friends, 
and  then  had  discovered  the  existence — the  almost  speechless 


340 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


and  unacknowledged,  but  most  useful  presence — of  a factotum 
whose  person  seemed  to  be  invisible — this  Captain  Paz  or 
Pa$. 

‘‘Monsieur  le  Capitaine  Paz  begs  Madame  la  Comtesse  to 
excuse  him ; he  is  round  at  the  stables,  and  in  a dress  which 
does  not  allow  of  his  coming  at  this  minute.  But  as  soon  as 
he  is  dressed  Count  Paz  will  come,”  said  the  manservant 
deferentially. 

“ Why,  what  was  he  doing?” 

“ He  was  showing  Constantine  how  to  groom  the  Countess’ 
horse;  the  man  did  not  do  it  to  his  mind,”  replied  the 
servant. 

The  Countess  looked  at  the  man ; he  was  quite  serious,  and 
took  good  care  not  to  imply  by  a smile  the  comment  which 
inferiors  so  often  allow  themselves  on  a superior  who  seems  to 
have  descended  to  their  level. 

“ Ah,  he  was  brushing  down  Cora?  ” 

“You  are  not  riding  out  this  morning,  madame?  ” said  the 
servant ; but  he  got  no  answer,  and  went. 

“Is  he  a Pole?”  asked  Clementine  of  her  husband,  who 
bowed  affirmatively. 

Clementine  lay  silent,  examining  Adam.  Her  feet,  almost 
at  full  length  on  a cushion,  her  head  in  the  attitude  of  a bird 
listening  on  the  edge  of  its  nest  to  the  sounds  of  the  grove, 
she  would  have  seemed  charming  to  the  most  blase  of  men. 
Fair  and  slight,  her  hair  curled  English  fashion,  she  looked  like 
one  of  the  almost  fabulous  figures  in  “Keepsakes,”  especially 
as  she  was  wrapped  in  a morning  gown  of  Persian  silk,  of  which 
the  thick  folds  did  not  so  effectually  disguise  the  graces  of 
her  figure  and  the  slenderness  of  her  waist,  as  that  they  could 
not  be  admired  through  the  thick  covering  of  flowers  and 
embroidery.  As  she  crossed  the  brightly  colored  stuff  over 
her  chest,  the  hollow  of  her  throat  remained  visible,  the  white 
skin  contrasting  in  tone  with  the  handsome  lace  trimming 
over  the  shoulders.  Her  eyes,  fringed  with  black  lashes, 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


341 


emphasized  the  expression  of  curiosity  that  puckered  a pretty 
mouth.  On  her  well-formed  brow  were  traced  the  character- 
istic curves  of  the  Paris  woman,  willful,  light-hearted,  well- 
educated,  but  invulnerable  to  vulgar  temptations.  Her  hands, 
almost  transparent,  hung  from  each  arm  of  her  deep  chair ; 
the  taper  fingers,  curved  at  the  tips,  showed  nails  like  pink 
almonds  that  caught  the  light. 

Adam  smiled  at  his  wife’s  impatience,  gazing  at  her  with  a 
look  which  conjugal  satiety  had  not  yet  made  lukewarm. 
This  slim  little  Countess  had  known  how  to  be  mistress  in 
her  own  house,  for  she  scarcely  acknowledged  Adam’s  admi- 
ration. In  the  glances  she  stole  at  him  there  was  perhaps  a 
dawning  consciousness  of  the  superiority  of  a Parisienne  to 
this  spruce,  lean,  and  red-haired  Pole. 

“ Here  comes  Paz,”  said  the  Count,  hearing  a step  that 
rang  in  the  corridor. 

The  Countess  saw  a tall,  handsome  man  come  in,  well-built, 
bearing  in  his  features  the  marks  of  the  grief  which  comes  of 
strength  and  misfortune.  Paz  had  dressed  hastily  in  one  of 
those  tightly  fitting  coats,  fastened  by  braid  straps  and  oval 
buttons,  which  used  to  be  called  polonaises.  Thick,  black 
hair,  but  ill-kempt,  covered  his  squarely-shaped  head,  and 
Clementine  could  see  his  broad  forehead  as  shiny  as  a piece 
of  marble,  for  he  held  his  peaked  cap  in  his  hand.  That 
hand  was  like  the  hand  of  the  Hercules  carrying  the  infant 
Mercury.  Robust  health  bloomed  in  a face  equally  divided 
by  a large  Roman  nose,  which  reminded  Clementine  of  the 
handsome  Trasteverini.  A black  silk  stock  put  a finishing 
touch  of  martial  appearance  to  this  mystery  of  nearly  six  feet 
high,  with  jet-black  eyes  as  lustrous  as  an  Italian’s.  The  width 
of  his  full  trousers,  hiding  all  but  the  toes  of  his  boots, 
showed  that  Paz  still  was  faithful  to  the  fashions  of  Poland. 
Certainly,  to  a romantic  woman,  there  must  have  been  some- 
thing burlesque  in  the  violent  contrast  observable  between 
the  captain  and  the  Count,  between  the  little  Pole  with  his 


342 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


narrow  frame  and  this  fine  soldier,  between  the  carpet-knight 
and  the  knight  servitor. 

“Good-morning,  Adam,”  he  said  to  the  Count  with 
familiarity. 

Then  he  bowed  gracefully,  asking  Clementine  in  what  way 
he  could  serve  her. 

“ Then  you  are  Laginski’s  friend  ? ” asked  the  lady. 

“For  life  and  death,”  replied  Paz,  on  whom  the  young 
Count  shed  his  most  affectionate  smile,  as  he  exhaled  his  last 
fragrant  puff  of  smoke. 

“ Well,  then,  why  do  you  not  eat  with  us?  Why  did  you 
not  accompany  us  to  Italy  and  to  Switzerland  ? Why  do  you 
hide  yourself  so  as  to  avoid  the  thanks  I owe  you  for  the 
constant  services  you  do  us?  ” said  the  young  Countess,  with 
a sort  of  irritation,  but  without  the  slightest  feeling. 

In  fact,  she  detected  a kind  of  volunteer  slavery  on  the  part 
of  Paz.  At  that  time  such  an  idea  was  inseparable  from  a 
certain  disdain  for  a socially  amphibious  creature,  a being  at 
once  secretary  and  bailiff,  neither  wholly  bailiff  nor  wholly 
secretary,  some  poor  relation — inconvenient  as  a friend. 

“ The  fact  is,  Countess,”  he  replied  with  some  freedom, 
“ that  no  thanks  are  owing  to  me.  I am  Adam’s  friend,  and 
I find  my  pleasure  in  taking  charge  of  his  interests.” 

“ And  is  it  for  your  pleasure  too  that  you  remain  standing  ? ” 
said  Count  Adam. 

Paz  sat  down  in  an  armchair  near  the  doorway. 

“ I remember  having  seen  you  on  the  occasion  of  our 
marriage,  and  sometimes  in  the  courtyard,”  said  the  lady; 
“but  why  do  you,  a friend  of  Adam’s,  place  yourself  in  a 
position  of  inferiority?” 

“ The  opinion  of  the  Paris  world  is  to  me  a matter  of 
indifference,”  said  he.  “ I live  for  myself,  or,  if  you  choose, 
for  you  two.” 

“But  the  opinion  of  the  world  as  regards  my  husband’s 
friend  cannot  be  a matter  of  indifference  to  me ” 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


343 


“ Oh,  madame,  the  world  is  easily  satisfied  by  one  word : 
Eccentric — say  that.” 

After  a short  pause  he  asked,  “ Do  you  propose  going 
out?” 

“ Will  you  come  to  the  Bois?  " said  the  Countess. 

“ With  pleasure,"  and  so  saying  Paz  bowed  and  went  out. 

“ What  a good  soul  ! He  is  as  simple  as  a child,"  said 
Adam. 

“ Tell  me  now  how  you  became  friends,"  said  Clementine. 

“ Paz,  my  dearest,  is  of  a family  as  old,  as  noble,  and  as 
illustrious  as  our  own.  At  the  time  of  the  fall  of  the  Pazzi 
a member  of  the  family  escaped  from  Florence  into  Poland, 
where  he  settled  with  some  little  fortune,  and  founded  the 
family  of  the  Paz,  on  which  the  title  of  Count  was  conferred. 

‘‘This  family,  having  distinguished  itself  in  the  days  of 
our  royal  republic,  grew  rich.  The  cutting  from  the  tree 
felled  in  Italy  grew  with  such  vigor  that  there  are  several 
branches  of  the  house  of  the  Counts  Paz.  It  will  not,  there- 
fore, surprise  you  to  be  told  that  there  are  rich  and  poor 
members  of  the  family.  Our  Paz  is  the  son  of  a poor  branch. 
As  an  orphan,  with  no  fortune  but  his  sword,  he  served  under 
the  Grand  Duke  Constantine  at  the  time  of  our  Revolution. 
Carried  away  by  the  Polish  party,  he  fought  like  a Pole,  like 
a patriot,  like  a man  who  has  nothing — three  reasons  for 
fighting  well.  In  the  last  skirmish,  believing  his  men  were 
following  him,  he  rushed  on  a Russian  battery,  and  was  taken 
prisoner.  I was  there.  This  feat  of  courage  roused  my 
blood.  ‘ Let  us  go  and  fetch  him  ! ’ cried  I to  my  horsemen. 
We  charged  the  battery  like  freebooters,  and  I rescued  Paz,  I 
being  the  seventh.  We  were  twenty  when  we  set  out,  and 
eight  when  we  came  back,  including  Paz. 

“ When  Warsaw  was  betrayed  we  had  to  think  of  escaping 
from  the  Russians.  By  a singular  chance  Paz  and  I found  our- 
selves together  at  the  same  hour  and  in  the  same  place  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Vistula.  I saw  the  poor  captain  arrested  by 


344 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


some  Prussians,  who  at  that  time  had  made  themselves  blood- 
hounds for  the  Russians.  When  one  has  fished  a man  out  of 
the  Styx,  one  gets  attached  to  him.  This  new  danger  threat- 
ening Paz  distressed  me  so  much  that  I allowed  myself  to  be 
taken  with  him,  intending  to  be  of  service  to  him.  Two  men 
can  sometimes  escape  when  one  alone  is  lost.  Thanks  to  my 
name  and  some  family  connection  with  those  on  whom  our 
fate  depended — for  we  were  then  in  the  power  of  the  Prus- 
sians— my  flight  was  winked  at.  I got  my  dear  captain 
through  as  a common  soldier  and  a servant  of  my  house,  and 
we  succeeded  in  reaching  Dantzic.  We  stowed  ourselves  in  a 
Dutch  vessel  sailing  for  England,  where  we  landed  two  months 
later. 

“ My  mother  had  fallen  ill  in  England,  and  awaited  me 
there ; Paz  and  I nursed  her  till  her  death,  which  was  acceler- 
ated by  the  disasters  to  our  cause. 

“We  then  left  England,  and  I brought  Paz  to  France;  in 
such  adversities  two  men  become  brothers.  When  I found 
myself  in  Paris  with  sixty-odd  thousand  francs  a year,  not  to 
mention  the  remains  of  a sum  derived  from  the  sale  of  my 
mother’s  diamonds  and  the  family  pictures,  I wished  to  secure 
a living  to  Paz  before  giving  myself  up  to  the  dissipations  of 
Paris  life.  I had  discerned  some  sadness  in  the  captain’s  eyes, 
sometimes  even  a suppressed  tear  floated  there.  I had  had  op- 
portunities of  appreciating  his  soul,  which  is  thoroughly  noble, 
lofty,  and  generous.  Perhaps  it  was  painful  to  him  to  find 
himself  bound  by  benefits  to  a man  six  years  younger  than 
himself  without  being  able  to  repay  him.  I,  careless  and 
light-hearted  as  a boy,  might  ruin  myself  at  play,  or  let  my- 
self be  ensnared  by  some  woman ; Paz  and  I might  some  day 
be  sundered.  Though  I promised  myself  that  I would  always 
provide  for  all  his  needs,  I foresaw  many  chances  of  forget- 
ting, or  being  unable  to  pay  Paz  an  allowance.  In  short,  my 
angel,  I wished  to  spare  him  the  discomfort,  the  humilia- 
tion, the  shame  of  having  to  ask  me  for  money,  or  of  seeking 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


345 


in  vain  for  his  comrade  in  some  day  of  necessity.  Dunque , 
one  morning  after  breakfast,  with  our  feet  on  the  fire-dogs, 
each  smoking  his  pipe,  after  many  blushes,  and  with  many 
precautions,  till  I saw  he  was  looking  at  me  quite  anxiously,  I 
held  out  to  him  a bond  to  bearer  producing  two  thousand  four 
hundred  francs  interest  yearly ” 

Clementine  quickly  rose,  seated  herself  on  Adam’s  knees, 
and  putting  her  arm  round  his  neck,  kissed  him  on  the  brow, 
saying — 

“ Dear  heart,  how  noble  I think  you  ! And  what  did  Paz 
say?” 

“Thaddeus?  ” said  the  Count;  “he  turned  pale  and  said 
nothing.” 

“ Thaddeus — is  that  his  name?  ” 

“Yes.  Thaddeus  folded  up  the  paper  and  returned  it  to 
me,  saying,  ‘ I thought,  Adam,  that  we  were  as  one  in  life  and 
death,  and  that  we  should  never  part ; do  you  wish  to  see  no 
more  of  me.’  ‘Oh,’  said  I,  ‘is  that  the  way  you  take  it? 
Well,  then,  say  no  more  about  it.  If  I am  ruined,  you  will 
be  ruined.’  Said  he,  ‘ You  are  not  rich  enough  to  live  as  a 
Laginski  should  ; and  do  you  not  need  a friend  to  take  care 
of  your  concerns,  who  will  be  father  and  brother  to  you,  and 
a trusted  confidant  ? ’ My  dear  girl,  Paz,  as  he  uttered  the 
words,  spoke  with  a calmness  of  tone  and  look  which  covered  a 
motherly  feeling,  but  which  betrayed  the  gratitude  of  an  Arab, 
the  devotion  of  a dog,  and  the  friendship  of  a savage,  always 
ready  and  always  unassuming.  On  my  honor ! I took  him 
in  our  Polish  fashion,  laying  my  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  I 
kissed  him  on  the  lips.  ‘For  life  and  death  then,’  said  I. 
‘ All  I have  is  yours,  do  just  as  you  will.* 

“ It  was  he  who  found  me  this  house  for  almost  nothing. 
He  sold  my  shares  when  they  were  high,  and  bought  when 
they  were  low,  and  we  purchased  this  hovel  out  of  the  dif- 
ference. He  is  a connoisseur  in  horses,  and  deals  in  them  so 
well  that  my  stable  has  cost  me  very  little,  and  yet  I have  the 


346  THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 

finest  beasts  and  the  prettiest  turn-out  in  Paris.  Our  servants, 
old  Polish  soldiers  whom  he  found,  would  pass  through  the 
fire  for  us.  While  I seem  to  be  ruining  myself,  Paz  keeps  my 
house  with  such  perfect  order  and  economy  that  he  has  even 
made  good  some  losses  at  play,  the  follies  of  a young  man. 
My  Thaddeus  is  as  cunning  as  two  Genoese,  as  keen  for  profit 
as  a Polish  Jew,  as  cautious  as  a good  housekeeper.  I have 
never  been  able  to  persuade  him  to  live  as  I did  when  I was 
a bachelor.  Sometimes  it  has  needed  the  gentle  violence  of 
friendship  to  induce  him  to  come  to  the  play  when  I was  going 
alone,  or  to  one  of  the  dinners  I was  giving  at  an  eating-house 
to  a party  of  congenial  companions.  He  does  not  like  the 
life  of  drawing-rooms.” 

“Then  what  does  he  like?  ” asked  Clementine. 

“ He  loves  Poland,  and  weeps  over  her.  His  only  ex- 
travagance has  been  money  sent,  more  in  my  name  than  in  his 
own,  to  some  of  our  poor  exiles.” 

“ Dear,  how  fond  I shall  be  of  that  good  fellow,”  said  the 
Countess.  “ He  seems  to  me  as  simple  as  everything  that  is 
truly  great.” 

“All  the  pretty  things  you  see  here,”  said  Adam,  praising 
his  friend  with  the  most  generous  security,  “have  been  found 
by  Paz ; he  has  bought  them  at  sales,  or  by  some  chance. 
Oh  ! he  is  keener  at  a bargain  than  a trader.  If  you  see  him 
rubbing  his  hands  in  the  courtyard,  it  is  because  he  has  ex- 
changed a good  horse  for  a better.  He  lives  in  me ; his  de- 
light is  to  see  me  well-dressed,  in  a dazzlingly  smart  carriage. 
He  performs  all  the  duties  he  imposes  on  himself  without  fuss 
or  display.  One  night  I had  lost  twenty  thousand  francs  at 
whist.  ‘ What  will  Paz  say  ? ’ thought  I to  myself  as  I reached 
home.  Paz  gave  me  the  sum,  not  without  a sigh ; but  he  did 
not  blame  me  even  by  a look.  This  sigh  checked  me  more 
than  all  the  remonstrances  of  uncles,  wives,  or  mothers  in 
similar  circumstances.  ‘You  regret  the  money?’  I asked 
him.  ‘ Oh,  not  for  you,  nor  for  myself ; no,  I was  only  think- 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


347 


in g that  twenty  poor  relations  of  mine  could  have  lived  on  it 
for  a year.  ’ 

“ The  family  of  Paz,  you  understand,  is  quite  equal  to  that 
of  Laginski,  and  I have  never  regarded  my  dear  Paz  as  an  in- 
ferior. I have  tried  to  be  as  magnanimous  in  my  degree  as  he 
in  his.  I never  go  out  or  come  in  without  going  to  Paz,  as  if 
he  were  my  father.  My  fortune  is  his.  In  short,  Thaddeus 
knows  that  at  this  day  I would  rush  into  danger  to  rescue  him, 
as  I have  done  twice  before.” 

“That  is  not  a small  thing  to  say,  my  dear,”  remarked  the 
Countess.  “ Devotion  is  a lightning-flash.  Men  devote 
themselves  in  war,  but  they  no  longer  devote  themselves  in 
Paris.  ’ ’ 

“ Well,  then,”  said  Adam,  “ for  Paz  I am  always  in  war. 
Our  two  natures  have  preserved  their  asperities  and  their 
faults,  but  the  mutual  intimacy  of  our  souls  has  tightened  the 
bonds,  already  so  close,  of  our  friendship.  A man  may  save 
his  comrade’s  life,  and  kill  him  afterwards  if  he  finds  him  a 
bad  companion  ; but  we  have  gone  through  what  makes  friend- 
ship indissoluble.  There  is  between  us  that  constant  exchange 
of  pleasing  impressions  on  both  sides  which  makes  friendship, 
from  that  point  of  view,  a richer  joy,  perhaps,  than  love.” 

A pretty  little  hand  shut  the  Count’s  mouth  so  suddenly 
that  the  movement  was  almost  a blow. 

“Yes,  indeed,  my  darling,”  said  he.  “ Friendship  knows 
nothing  of  the  bankruptcy  of  sentiment,  the  insolvency  of 
pleasures.  Love,  after  giving  more  than  it  has,  ends  by 
giving  less  than  it  receives?  ” 

“On  both  sides  alike  then,”  said  Clementine,  smiling. 

“Yes,”  said  Adam.  “While  friendship  can  but  increase. 
You  need  not  pout.  We,  my  angel,  are  as  much  friends  as 
lovers ; we,  at  least,  I hope,  have  combined  the  two  feelings 
in  our  happy  marriage.” 

“I  will  explain  to  you  what  has  made  you  two  such  good 
friends,”  said  Clementine.  “The  difference  in  your  lives 

Y 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


348 

arises  from  a difference  in  your  tastes,  and  not  from  coni' 
pulsory  choice ; from  preference,  and  not  from  the  necessity 
of  position.  So  far  as  a man  can  be  judged  from  a glimpse, 
and  from  what  you  tell  me,  in  this  instance  the  subaltern  may 
at  times  be  the  superior.” 

“ Oh  ! Paz  is  really  my  superior,”  replied  Adam  simply. 
“ I have  no  advantage  over  him  but  that  of  luck.” 

His  wife  kissed  him  for  this  generous  avowal. 

“ The  perfect  skill  with  which  he  conceals  the  loftiness  of 
his  soul  is  an  immense  superiority,”  the  Count  went  on.  “I 
say  to  him,  ‘ You  are  a sly  fellow  ; you  have  vast  domains  in 
your  mind  to  which  you  retire.’  He  has  a right  to  the  title 
of  Count  Paz;  in  Paris  he  will  only  be  called  captain.” 

“In  short,  a Florentine  of  the  middle  ages  has  resuscitated 
after  three  centuries,”  said  the  Countess.  “ There  is  some- 
thing of  Dante  in  him,  and  something  of  Michael  Angelo.” 

“ Indeed,  you  are  right ; he  is  at  heart  a poet,”  replied 
Adam. 

“And  so  I am  married  to  two  Poles,”  said  the  young 
Countess,  with  a gesture  resembling  that  of  a genius  on  the 
stage. 

“Darling  child!”  said  Adam,  clasping  Clementine  to 
him,  “ you  would  have  distressed  me  very  much  if  you  had 
not  liked  my  friend.  We  were  both  afraid  of  that,  though 
he  was  delighted  at  my  marrying.  You  will  make  him  very 
happy  by  telling  him  that  you  love  him — oh  ! as  an  old 
friend.” 

“ Then  I will  go  to  dress;  it  is  fine,  we  will  all  three  go 
out,”  said  Clementine,  ringing  for  her  maid. 

Paz  led  such  an  underground  life  that  all  the  fashion  of 
Paris  wondered  who  it  was  that  accompanied  Clementine 
Laginski  when  they  saw  her  driving  to  the  Bois  and  back 
between  him  and  her  husband.  During  the  drive  Clementine 
had  insisted  that  Thaddeus  was  to  dine  with  her.  This  whim 
of  a despotic  sovereign  compelled  the  captain  to  make  an 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


349 


unwonted  toilet.  On  returning  from  her  drive  Clementine 
dressed  with  some  coquettish  care,  in  such  a way  as  to  pro- 
duce an  effect  even  on  Adam  as  she  entered  the  room  where 
the  two  friends  were  awaiting  her. 

“Count  Paz,”  said  she,  “we  will  go  to  the  opera  to- 
gether.” 

It  was  said  in  the  tone  which  from  a woman  conveys,  “If 
you  refuse,  we  shall  quarrel.” 

“ With  pleasure,  madame,”  replied  the  captain.  “ But  as 
I have  not  a count’s  fortune,  call  me  captain.” 

“ Well,  then,  captain,  give  me  your  arm,”  said  she,  taking 
it  and  leading  him  into  the  dining-room  with  a suggestion  of 
the  caressing  familiarity  which  usually  so  greatly  enraptures 
a lover. 

The  Countess  placed  the  captain  next  her,  and  he  sat  like 
a poor  sub-lieutenant  dining  with  a wealthy  general.  Paz 
left  it  to  Clementine  to  talk,  listening  to  her  with  all  the  air 
of  deference  to  a superior,  contradicting  her  in  nothing,  and 
waiting  for  a positive  question  before  making  any  reply.  In 
short,  to  the  Countess  he  seemed  almost  stupid,  and  her 
graces  all  fell  flat  before  this  icy  gravity  and  diplomatic  dig- 
nity. In  vain  did  Adam  try  to  rouse  him  by  saying,  “ Come, 
cheer  up,  captain.  It  might  be  supposed  that  you  were  not 
at  home.  You  must  have  laid  a bet  that  you  would  discon- 
cert Clementine?”  Thaddeus  remained  heavy  and  half- 
asleep. 

When  the  three  were  alone  at  dessert  the  captain  explained 
that  his  life  was  planned  diametrically  unlike  that  of  other 
people;  he  went  to  bed  at  eight  o’clock,  and  rose  at  day- 
break ; and  he  thus  excused  himself,  saying  he  was  very 
sleepy. 

“ My  intention  in  taking  you  to  the  opera  was  only  to 
amuse  you,  Captain  Paz;  but  do  just  as  you  please,”  said 
Clementine,  a little  nettled. 

“ I will  go,”  said  Paz. 


350 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


“ Duprez  is  singing  in  William  Tell"  said  Adam.  “ Would 
you  prefer  the  Varieies ?" 

The  captain  smiled  and  rang  the  bell ; the  manservant 
appeared.  “ Tell  Constantine,”  said  Paz,  “to  take  out  the 
large  carriage  instead  of  the  coupe.  We  cannot  sit  comfort- 
ably in  it,”  he  added,  turning  to  the  Count. 

“A  Frenchman  would  not  have  thought  of  that,”  said 
Clementine,  smiling. 

“Ah,  but  we  are  Florentines  transplanted  to  the  north,” 
replied  Thaddeus,  with  a meaning  and  an  expression  which 
showed  that  his  dullness  at  dinner  had  been  assumed. 

But  by  a very  conceivable  want  of  judgment,  there  was  too 
great  a contrast  between  the  involuntary  self-betrayal  of  this 
speech  and  the  captain’s  attitude  during  dinner.  Clementine 
examined  him  with  one  of  those  keen  flashes  by  which  a 
woman  reveals  at  once  her  surprise  and  her  observancy. 
Thus,  during  the  few  minutes  while  they  were  taking  their 
coffee  in  the  drawing-room,  silence  reigned — an  uncomfort- 
able silence  for  Adam,  who  could  not  divine  its  cause. 
Clementine  no  longer  disturbed  Thaddeus.  The  captain, 
for  his  part,  retired  again  into  military  rigidity,  and  came 
out  of  it  no  more,  either  on  the  way,  or  in  the  box,  where 
he  affected  to  be  asleep. 

“You  see,  madame,  that  I am  very  dull  company,”  said 
he,  during  the  ballet  in  the  last  act  of  William  Tell.  “Was 
I not  right  to  ‘ stick  to  my  last,’  as  the  proverb  says?  ” 

“ On  my  word,  my  dear  captain,  you  are  neither  a cox- 
comb nor  a chatterbox  ; you  are  perhaps  a Pole.” 

“Leave  me  then  to  watch  over  your  pleasures,”  he  replied, 
“to  take  care  of  your  fortune  and  your  house;  that  is  all 
I am  good  for.” 

“Tartufe!  begone!”  cried  Adam,  smiling.  “ My  dear, 
he  is  full  of  heart,  well  informed — he  could,  if  he  chose, 
hold  his  own  in  any  drawing-room.  Clementine,  do  not 
believe  what  his  modesty  tells  you.” 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


361 


“ Good-night,  Countess.  I have  proved  my  willingness, 
and  now  will  avail  myself  of  your  carriage  to  go  to  bed  at 
once.  I will  send  it  back  for  you.” 

Clementine  bowed  slightly,  and  let  him  go  without  re- 
plying. 

“ What  a bear  ! ” said  she  to  the  Count.  “ You  are  much, 
much  nicer.” 

Adam  pressed  his  wife’s  hand  unseen. 

“ Poor,  dear  Thaddeus,  he  has  endeavored  to  be  a foil 
when  many  men  would  have  tried  to  seem  more  attractive 
than  I.” 

“ Oh  ! ” said  she,  “ I am  not  sure  that  was  not  intentional ; 
his  behavior  would  have  mystified  an  ordinary  woman.” 

Half  an  hour  later,  while  Boleslas  the  groom  was  calling 
“Gate,”  and  the  coachman,  having  turned  the  carriage  to 
drive  in,  was  waiting  for  the  gates  to  be  opened,  Clementine 
said  to  the  Count — 

“ Where  does  the  captain  roost?  ” 

“ Up  there,”  said  Adam,  pointing  to  an  elegantly  con- 
structed attic  extending  on  both  sides  of  the  gateway  with  a 
window  looking  on  to  the  street.  “ His  rooms  are  over  the 
coach-houses.  ’ ’ 

“And  who  lives  in  the  other  half?  ” 

“No  one  as  yet,”  replied  Adam.  “The  other  little 
suite,  over  the  stables,  will  do  for  our  children  and  their 
tutor.” 

“ He  is  not  in  bed,”  said  the  Countess,  seeing  a light  in 
the  captain’s  room  when  the  carriage  was  under  the  pillared 
portico — copied  from  that  at  the  Tuileries,  and  taking  the 
place  of  the  ordinary  zinc  awning  painted  to  imitate  striped 
ticking. 

Paz,  in  his  dressing-gown,  and  pipe  in  hand,  was  watching 
Clementine  as  she  disappeared  into  the  hall.  The  day  had 
been  a cruel  one  to  him.  And  this  is  the  reason  : Thaddeus 
had  felt  a fearful  shock  to  his  heart  on  the  day  when,  Adam 


352 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


having  taken  him  to  the  opera  to  pronounce  his  opinion,  he 
first  saw  Mademoiselle  du  Rouvre ; and  again,  when  he  saw 
her  in  the  mayor’s  office  and  at  Saint-Thomas  d’Aquin,  and 
recognized  in  her  the  woman  whom  a man  must  love  to  the 
exclusion  of  all  others — for  Don  Juan  himself  preferred  one 
among  the  mi  lie  e tre! 

Hence  Paz  had  strongly  advocated  the  classical  bridal  tour 
after  the  wedding.  Fairly  easy  all  the  time  while  Clementine 
was  absent,  his  tortures  began  again  on  the  return  of  the 
happy  couple.  And  this  was  what  he  was  thinking  as  he  in- 
haled his  latakia  from  a cherry-stem  pipe,  six  feet  long,  a gift 
from  Adam:  “Only  I and  God,  who  will  reward  me  for 
suffering  in  silence,  may  ever  know  how  I love  her  ! But  how 
can  I manage  to  avoid  alike  her  love  or  her  hatred  ? ” 

And  he  sat  thinking,  thinking,  over  this  problem  of  the 
strategy  of  love. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Thaddeus  lived  bereft  of  all 
joy  in  the  midst  of  his  pain.  The  triumphant  cunning  of 
this  day  was  a source  of  secret  satisfaction.  Since  the  Count’s 
return  with  his  wife,  day  by  day  he  felt  ineffable  happiness  in 
seeing  that  he  was  necessary  to  the  couple,  who,  but  for  him, 
would  have  rushed  inevitably  into  ruin.  What  fortune  can 
hold  out  against  the  extravagance  of  Paris  life  ? Clementine, 
brought  up  by  a reckless  father,  knew  nothing  of  household 
management,  which  nowadays  the  richest  women  and  the 
highest  in  rank  are  obliged  to  undertake  themselves.  Who  in 
these  days  can  afford  to  keep  a steward  ? Adam,  on  his  part, 
as  the  son  of  one  of  the  great  Polish  nobles  who  allowed 
themselves  to  be  devoured  by  the  Jews,  and  who  was  incapable 
of  husbanding  the  remains  of  one  of  the  most  enormous  for- 
tunes in  Poland — where  fortunes  were  enormous — was  not  of 
a temper  to  restrict  either  his  own  fancies  or  his  wife’s.  If 
he  had  been  alone,  he  would  probably  have  ruined  himself 
before  his  marriage.  Paz  had  kept  him  from  gambling  on 
the  Bourse,  and  does  not  that  say  all  ? 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


353 


Consequently,  when  he  found  that,  in  spite  of  himself,  he 
was  in  love  with  Clementine,  Paz  had  not  the  choice  of  leav- 
ing the  house  and  traveling  to  forget  his  passion.  Gratitude, 
the  clue  to  the  mystery  of  his  life,  held  him  to  the  house 
where  he  alone  could  act  as  man  of  business  to  this  heedless 
couple.  Their  long  absence  made  him  hope  for  a calmer 
spirit : but  the  Countess  came  back  more  than  ever  lovely, 
having  acquired  that  freedom  of  thought  which  marriage  con- 
fers on  the  Paris  woman,  and  displaying  all  the  charms  of  a 
young  wife,  with  the  indefinable  something  which  comes  of 
happiness,  or  of  the  independence  allowed  her  by  a man  as 
trusting,  as  chivalrous,  and  as  much  in  love  as  Adam  was. 

The  consciousness  of  being  the  working  hub  of  this  mag- 
nificent house,  the  sight  of  Clementine  stepping  out  of  her 
carriage  on  her  return  from  a party,  or  setting  out  in  the 
morning  for  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  a glimpse  of  her  on  the 
Boulevards  in  her  pretty  carriage,  like  a flower  in  its  nest  of 
leaves,  filled  poor  Thaddeus  with  deep,  mysterious  ecstasies 
which  blossomed  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart  without  the  slight- 
est trace  appearing  in  his  features.  How,  during  these  five 
months,  should  the  Countess  ever  have  seen  the  captain? 
He  hid  from  her,  concealing  the  care  he  took  to  keep  out  of 
her  way. 

Nothing  is  so  near  divine  love  as  a hopeless  love.  Must 
not  a man  have  some  depth  of  soul  thus  to  devote  himself  in 
silence  and  obscurity?  This  depth,  where  lurks  the  pride  of 
a father — or  of  God — enshrines  the  worship  of  love  for  love’s 
sake,  as  power  for  power’s  sake  was  the  watchword  of  the 
Jesuits;  a sublime  kind  of  avarice,  since  it  is  perennially  gen- 
erous, and  modeled  indeed  on  the  mysterious  Being  of  the 
first  principles  of  the  world.  Is  not  their  result  nature  ? And 
nature  is  an  enchantress ; she  belongs  to  man,  to  the  poet,  the 
painter,  the  lover ; but  is  not  the  cause  superior  to  nature  in 
the  sight  of  certain  privileged  souls,  and  some  stupendous 
thinkers  ? The  cause  is  God.  In  that  sphere  of  causes  dwelt 
23 


354 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


the  spirits  of  Newton,  of  Laplace,  of  Kepler,  of  Descartes, 
Malebranche,  Spinoza,  Buffon,  of  the  true  poets  and  saints  of 
the  second  century  of  our  era,  of  Saint  Theresa  of  Spain  and 
the  sublime  mystics.  Every  human  emotion  contains  some 
analogy  with  the  frame  of  mind  in  which  the  effect  is  neg- 
lected in  favor  of  the  cause,  and  Thaddeus  has  risen  to  the 
height  whence  all  things  look  different.  Abandoned  to  the 
unspeakable  joys  of  creative  energy,  Thaddeus  was,  in  love, 
what  we  recognize  as  greatest  in  the  records  of  genius. 

“ No,  she  is  not  altogether  deceived,’ ’ thought  he,  as  he 
watched  the  smoke  curl  from  his  pipe.  “She  might  involve 
me  in  an  irremediable  quarrel  with  Adam  if  she  spited  me ; 
and  if  she  should  flirt  to  torment  me,  what  would  become  of 
me?” 

The  fatuity  of  this  hypothesis  was  so  unlike  the  captain’s 
modest  nature,  and  his  somewhat  German  shyness,  that  he  was 
vexed  with  himself  for  its  having  occurred  to  him,  and  went 
to  bed  determined  to  await  events  before  taking  any  decisive 
steps. 

Next  morning  Clementine  breakfasted  very  well  without 
Thaddeus,  and  made  no  remark  on  his  disobedience.  That 
day,  as  it  happened,  was  her  day  for  being  “at  home,”  and 
this,  with  her,  demanded  a royal  display.  She  did  not  ob- 
serve the  absence  of  Captain  Paz,  on  whom  devolved  all  the 
arrangements  for  these  great  occasions. 

“Well  and  good!”  said  Paz  to  himself,  as  he  heard  the 
carriages  rumble  out  at  two  in  the  morning;  “the  Countess 
was  only  prompted  by  a Parisian’s  whim  or  curiosity.” 

So  the  captain  fell  back  into  his  regular  routine,  disturbed 
for  a day  by  this  incident.  Clementine,  diverted  by  the  de- 
tails of  life  in  Paris,  seemed  to  have  forgotten  Paz.  For  do 
you  suppose  that  it  is  a mere  trifle  to  reign  over  this  incon- 
stant city  ? Do  you  imagine,  by  any  means,  that  a woman 
risks  nothing  but  her  fortune  playing  at  that  absorbing 
game  ? 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


355 


The  winter  is  to  a woman  of  fashion  what,  of  yore,  a cam- 
paign was  to  the  soldiers  of  the  empire.  What  a work  of  art 
— of  genius — is  a costume  or  a head-dress  created  to  make  a 
sensation  ! A fragile,  delicate  woman  wears  her  hard  and 
dazzling  armor  of  flowers  and  diamonds,  silk  and  steel,  from 
nine  in  the  evening  till  two  or  often  three  in  the  morning. 
She  eats  little,  to  attract  the  eye  by  her  slender  shape ; she 
cheats  the  hunger  that  attacks  her  during  the  evening  with  de- 
bilitating cups  of  tea,  sweet  cakes,  heating  ices,  or  heavy  slices 
of  pastry.  The  stomach  must  submit  to  the  commands  of 
vanity.  She  awakes  late,  and  thus  everything  is  in  contradict 
tion  to  the  laws  of  nature,  and  nature  is  ruthless. 

No  sooner  is  she  up  than  the  woman  of  fashion  begins  <o 
dress  for  the  morning,  planning  her  dress  for  the  afternoon. 
Must  she  not  receive  and  pay  visits,  and  go  to  the  Bois  on 
horseback  or  in  her  carriage  ? Must  she  not  always  be  prac- 
ticing the  drill  of  smiles,  and  fatigue  her  brain  in  inventing 
compliments  which  shall  seem  neither  stale  nor  studied  ? And 
it  is  not  every  woman  who  succeeds.  And  then  you  are  sur- 
prised, when  you  see  a young  woman,  whom  the  world  has 
welcomed  in  her  freshness,  faded  and  blighted  at  the  end  of 
three  years.  Six  months  spent  in  the  country  are  barely 
enough  to  heal  the  wounds  inflicted  by  the  winter.  We  hear 
nothing  talked  of  but  dyspepsia  and  strange  maladies,  un- 
known to  women  who  devote  themselves  to  their  household. 
Formerly  a woman  was  sometimes  seen  ; now  she  is  perpe- 
tually on  the  stage. 

Clementine  had  to  fight  her  way ; she  was  beginning  to  be 
quoted,  and  amid  the  cares  of  this  struggle  between  her  and 
her  rivals  there  was  hardly  a place  for  love  of  her  husband  ! 
Thaddeus  might  well  be  forgotten.  However,  a month  later, 
in  May,  a few  days  before  her  departure  to  stay  at  Ronque- 
rolles  in  Burgundy,  as  she  was  returning  from  her  drive  she 
saw  Thaddeus  in  a side  alley  of  the  Champs-Elysees — Thad- 
deus, carefully  dressed,  and  in  raptures  at  seeing  his  Countess 


356 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


so  beautiful  in  her  phaeton,  with  champing  horses,  splendid 
liveries  ; in  short,  the  dear  people  he  admired  so  much. 

“ The$e  is  the  captain, ” said  she  to  Adam. 

u Happy  fellow  ! ” said  the  Count.  “ These  are  his  great 
treats  ! There  is  not  a smarter  turn-out  than  ours,  and  he 
delights  in  seeing  everybody  envying  us  our  happiness.  You 
have  never  noticed  him  before,  but  he  is  there  almost  every 
day.” 

“ What  can  he  be  thinking  of?  ” said  Clementine. 

“ He  is  thinking  at  this  moment  that  the  winter  has  cost  a 
great  deal,  and  that  we  shall  save  a little  by  staying  with  your 
old  uncle  Ronquerolles,”  said  Adam. 

The  Countess  had  the  carriage  stopped  in  front  of  Paz,  and 
desired  him  to  take  the  seat  by  her  side  in  the  carriage. 
Thaddeus  turned  as  red  as  a cherry. 

“ I shall  poison  you,”  he  said  ; “ I have  just  been  smoking 
cigars.” 

“ And  does  not  Adam  poison  me?  ” she  replied  quickly. 

“ Yes,  but  he  is  Adam,”  replied  the  captain. 

“ And  why  should  not  Thaddeus  enjoy  the  same  privilege?  ” 
said  the  Countess  with  a smile. 

This  heavenly  smile  had  a power  which  was  too  much  for 
his  heroic  resolutions;  he  gazed  at  Clementine  with  all  the 
fire  of  his  soul  in  his  eyes,  but  tempered  by  the  angelic 
expression  of  his  gratitude — that  of  a man  who  lived  solely  by 
gratitude.  The  Countess  folded  her  arms  in  her  shawl,  leaned 
back  pensively  against  the  cushions,  crumpling  the  feathers 
of  her  handsome  bonnet,  and  gazed  out  at  the  passers-by. 
This  flash  from  a soul  so  noble,  and  hitherto  so  resigned, 
appealed  to  her  feelings.  What,  after  all,  was  Adam’s  great 
merit  ? Was  it  not  natural  that  he  should  be  brave  and  gen- 
erous ? But  the  captain  ! Thaddeus  possessed,  or  seemed  to 
possess,  an  immense  superiority  over  Adam.  What  sinister 
thoughts  distressed  the  Countess  when  she  once  more  observed 
the  contrast  between  the  fine,  complete  physical  nature  which 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


357 


distinguished  Thaddeus  and  the  frail  constitution  which,  in 
her  husband,  betrayed  the  inevitable  degeneration  of  aristo- 
cratic families  which  are  so  mad  as  to  persist  in  intermarrying  ! 
But  the  devil  alone  knew  these  thoughts,  for  the  young  wife 
sat  with  vague  meditation  in  her  eyes,  saying  nothing  till  they 
reached  home. 

“ You  must  dine  with  us,  or  I shall  be  angry  with  you  for 
having  disobeyed  me,”  said  she  as  she  went  in.  “ You  are 
Thaddeus  to  me,  as  you  are  to  Adam.  I know  the  obliga- 
tions you  feel  to  him,  but  I also  know  all  we  owe  to  you.  In 
return  for  two  impulses  of  generosity  which  are  so  natural, 
you  are  generous  at  all  hours  and  day  after  day.  My  father 
is  coming  to  dine  with  us,  as  well  as  my  uncle  Ronquerolles 
and  my  aunt  de  Serizy  ; dress  at  once,”  she  said,  pressing  the 
hand  he  offered  to  help  her  out  of  the  carriage. 

Thaddeus  went  to  his  room  to  dress,  his  heart  at  once  re- 
joicing and  oppressed  by  an  agonizing  flutter.  He  came 
down  at  the  last  moment,  and  all  through  dinner  played  his 
part  of  a soldier  fit  for  nothing  but  to  fulfill  the  duties  of  a 
steward.  But  this  time  Clementine  was  not  his  dupe.  His 
look  had  enlightened  her.  Ronquerolles,  the  cleverest  of 
ambassadors  next  to  Talleyrand,  and  who  served  de  Marsay 
so  well  during  his  short  ministry,  was  informed  by  his  niece 
of  the  high  merits  of  Count  Paz,  who  had  so  modestly  made 
himself  his  friend’s  steward. 

“And  how  is  it  that  this  is  the  first  time  I have  ever  seen 
Count  Paz?”  asked  the  Marquis  de  Ronquerolles. 

“Eh  ! he  is  very  sly  and  underhand,”  replied  Clementine, 
with  a look  at  Paz  to  desire  him  to  change  his  demeanor. 

Alas  ! it  must  be  owned,  at  the  risk  of  making  the  captain 
less  interesting  to  the  reader,  Paz,  though  superior  to  his  friend 
Adam,  was  not  a man  of  strong  temper.  He  owed  his  appar- 
ent superiority  to  his  misfortunes.  In  his  days  of  poverty  and 
isolation  at  Warsaw  he  had  read  and  educated  himself,  had 
compared  and  thought  much  ; but  the  creative  power  which 


358 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


makes  a great  man  he  did  not  possess — can  it  ever  be  ac- 
quired ? Paz  was  great  only  through  his  feelings,  and  there 
could  rise  to  the  sublime ; but  in  the  sphere  of  sentiment,  be- 
ing a man  of  action  rather  than  of  ideas,  he  kept  his  thoughts 
to  himself.  His  thoughts,  then,  did  nothing  but  eat  his  heart 
out. 

And  what,  after  all,  is  an  unuttered  thought  ? 

At  Clementine’s  speech  the  Marquis  de  Ronquerolles  and 
his  sister  exchanged  glances,  with  a side-look  at  their  niece, 
Count  Adam,  and  Paz.  It  was  one  of  those  swift  dramas 
which  are  played  only  in  Italy  or  in  Paris.  Only  in  these  two 
parts  of  the  world — excepting  at  all  courts — can  the  eyes  say 
as  much.  To  infuse  into  the  eye  all  the  power  of  the  soul, 
to  give  it  the  full  value  of  speech  and  throw  a poem  or  a drama 
into  a single  flash,  excessive  servitude  or  excessive  liberty  is 
needed. 

Adam,  the  Marquis  du  Rouvre,  and  the  Countess  did  not 
perceive  this  flash  of  observation  between  a past  coquette  and 
an  old  diplomat ; but  Paz,  like  a faithful  dog,  understood 
its  forecast.  It  was,  you  must  remember,  an  affair  of  two 
seconds.  To  describe  the  hurricane  that  ravaged  the  captain’s 
heart  would  be  too  elaborate  for  these  days. 

“ What ! the  uncle  and  aunt  already  fancy  that  she  perhaps 
loves  me?  ” said  he  to  himself.  “ My  happiness  then  depends 
only  on  my  own  audacity.  And  Adam  ! ” 

Ideal  love  and  mere  desire,  both  quite  as  potent  as  friend- 
ship and  gratitude,  rent  his  soul,  and  for  a moment  love  had 
the  upper  hand.  This  poor  heroic  lover  longed  to  have  his 
day  ! Paz  became  witty ; he  intended  to  please,  and  in  an- 
swer to  some  question  from  Monsieur  de  Ronquerolles  he 
sketched  in  grand  outlines  the  Polish  rebellion.  Thus,  at 
dessert,  Paz  saw  Clementine  drinking  in  every  word,  regarding 
him  as  a hero,  and  forgetting  that  Adam,  after  sacrificing  a 
third  of  his  immense  fortune,  had  taken  the  risks  of  exile. 
At  nine  o’clock,  having  taken  coffee,  Madame  de  Serizy  kissed 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


359 


her  niece  on  the  forehead  and  took  leave,  carrying  off  Count 
Adam  with  an  assertion  of  authority,  and  leaving  the  Marquis 
du  Rouvre  and  M.  de  Ronquerolles,  who  withdrew  ten  min- 
utes later.  Paz  and  Clementine  were  left  together. 

“I  will  bid  you  good-night,  madame,”  said  Thaddeus; 
“you  will  join  them  at  the  opera.” 

“ No,”  replied  she.  “I  do  not  care  for  dancing,  and  they 
are  giving  an  odious  ballet  this  evening,  ‘ The  Revolt  of  the 
Seraglio.’  ” 

There  was  a moment’s  silence. 

“Two  years  ago  Adam  would  not  have  gone  without  me,” 
she  went  on,  without  looking  at  Paz. 

“ He  loves  you  to  distraction ” Thaddeus  began. 

“ Oh  ! it  is  because  he  loves  me  to  distraction  that  by 
to-morrow  he  will  perhaps  have  ceased  to  love  me!”  ex- 
claimed the  Countess. 

“ The  women  of  Paris  are  inexplicable,”  said  Thaddeus. 
“When  they  are  loved  to  distraction,  they  want  to  be  loved 
rationally  ; when  they  are  loved  rationally,  they  accuse  a man 
of  not  knowing  how  to  love.” 

“And  they  are  always  right,  Thaddeus,”  she  replied  with 
a smile.  “ I know  Adam  well;  I owe  him  no  grudge  for  it; 
he  is  fickle,  and,  above  all,  a great  gentleman ; he  will  always 
be  pleased  to  have  me  for  his  wife,  and  will  never  thwart  me 
in  any  of  my  tastes;  but ” 

“What  marriage  was  ever  without  a but?”  said  Thad- 
deus gently,  trying  to  give  the  Countess’  thoughts  another 
direction. 

The  least  conceited  man  would  perhaps  have  had  the 
thought  which  nearly  drove  this  lover  mad:  “If  I do 
not  tell  her  that  I love  her,”  said  he  to  himself,  “I  am 
an  idiot ! ” 

There  was  silence  between  these  two,  one  of  those  terrible 
pauses  which  seem  bursting  with  thoughts.  The  Countess 
fixed  a covert  gaze  on  Paz,  and  Paz  watched  her  in  a mirror. 


360 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


Sitting  back  in  his  armchair,  like  a man  given  up  to  digestion, 
in  the  attitude  of  an  old  man  or  an  indifferent  husband,  the 
captain  clasped  his  hands  over  his  stomach,  and  mechanically 
twirled  his  thumbs,  looking  stupidly  at  their  rapid  movement. 

“ But  say  something  good  about  Adam  ! ” exclaimed  Clem- 
entine. “Tell  me  that  he  is  not  fickle,  you  who  know  him 
so  well.” 

The  appeal  was  sublime. 

“ This  is  the  opportunity  for  raising  an  insurmountable  bar- 
rier between  us,”  thought  the  unhappy  Paz,  devising  a heroic 
lie.  “Something  good,”  he  said  aloud.  “I  love  him  too 
well,  you  would  not  believe  me.  I am  incapable  of  telling 
you  any  evil  of  him.  And  so,  madame,  I have  a hard  part 
to  play  between  you  two.” 

Clementine  looked  down,  fixing  her  eyes  on  his  patent- 
leather  shoes. 

“You  northerners  have  mere  physical  courage,  you  have 
no  constancy  in  your  decisions,”  said  she  in  a low  tone. 

“ What  are  you  going  to  do  alone,  madame?  ” replied  Paz, 
with  a perfectly  ingenuous  expression. 

“You  are  not  going  to  keep  me  company?  ” 

“Forgive  me  for  leaving  you.” 

“ Why  ! where  are  you  going  ? ” 

“ I am  going  to  the  circus  ; it  is  the  first  night,  in  the 
Champs-Elysees,  and  I must  not  fail  to  be  there ” 

“Why  not?”  asked  Clementine,  with  a half-angry  flash. 

“Must  I lay  bare  my  heart?”  he  replied  coloring,  “and 
confide  to  you  what  I conceal  from  my  dear  Adam,  who  be- 
lieves that  I love  Poland  alone  ? ” 

“ What ! our  dear  noble  captain  has  a secret  ? ” 

“A  disgrace  which  you  will  understand,  and  for  which  you 
can  comfort  me.” 

“ A disgrace  ! You  ? * ’ 

“ Yes,  I — Count  Paz — am  madly  in  love  with  a girl  who 
was  touring  round  France  with  the  Bouthor  family,  people 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


361 


who  have  a circus  after  the  pattern  of  Franconi’s,  but  who 
only  perform  at  fairs  ! I got  her  an  engagement  from  the 
manager  of  the  Cirque-Olympique.” 

“ Is  she  handsome  ? ” asked  the  Countess. 

“ In  my  eyes,”  he  replied  sadly.  “Malaga,  that  is  her 
name  to  the  public,  is  strong,  nimble,  and  supple.  Why  do 
I prefer  her  to  every  other  woman  in  the  world  ? Indeed,  I 
cannot  tell  you.  When  I see  her  with  her  black  hair  tied 
back  with  blue  ribbons  that  float  over  her  bare,  olive-tinted 
shoulders,  dressed  in  a white  tunic  with  a gilt  border,  and  silk 
tights  which  make  her  appear  a living  Greek  statue,  her  feet 
in  frayed  satin  slippers,  flourishing  flags  in  her  hand  to  the 
sound  of  a military  band,  and  flying  through  an  enormous 
hoop  covered  with  paper  which  crashes  in  the  air — when  her 
horse  rushes  round  at  a gallop,  and  she  gracefully  drops  on  to 
him  again,  applauded,  honestly  applauded,  by  a whole  people 
— well,  it  excites  me.” 

“More  than  a woman  at  a ball?”  said  Clementine,  with 
insinuating  surprise. 

“Yes,”  said  Paz  in  a choked  voice.  “This  splendid 
agility,  this  unfailing  grace  in  constant  peril,  seem  to  me  the 
greatest  triumph  of  woman.  Yes,  madame,  Cinti  and  Mali- 
bran,  Grisi  and  Taglioni,  Pasta  and  Elsler,  all  who  reign  or 
ever  reigned  on  the  boards,  seem  to  me  unworthy  to  untie 
Malaga’s  shoe-strings — Malaga,  who  can  mount  or  dismount 
a horse  at  a mad  gallop,  who  slips  under  him  from  the  left  to 
reappear  on  the  right,  who  flutters  about  the  most  fiery  steed 
like  a white  will-o’-the-wisp,  who  can  stand  on  the  tip  of  one 
toe  and  then  drop,  sitting  with  her  feet  hanging,  on  a horse 
still  galloping  round,  and  who  finally  stands  on  his  back  with- 
out any  reins,  knitting  a stocking,  beating  eggs,  or  stirring  an 
omelette,  to  the  intense  admiration  of  the  people,  the  true 
people,  the  peasantry  and  soldiers.  During  the  walk  round, 
madame,  that  enchanting  Columbine  used  to  carry  chairs 
balanced  on  the  tip  of  her  nose,  the  prettiest  Greek  nose  I 


362 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


ever  saw.  Malaga  is  dexterity  personified.  Her  strength  is 
Herculean ; with  her  tiny  fist  or  her  little  foot  she  can  shake 
off  three  or  four  men.  She  is  the  goddess  of  the  athletes.” 

“ She  must  be  stupid.” 

“Oh!”  cried  Paz,  “she  is  as  amusing  as  the  heroine  of 
‘ Peveril  of  the  Peak.’  As  heedless  as  a gypsy,  she  says 
everything  that  comes  into  her  head  ; she  cares  no  more  for 
the  future  than  you  care  for  the  halfpence  you  throw  to  a 
beggar,  and  she  lets  out  really  sublime  things.  Nothing  will 
ever  convince  her  that  an  old  diplomat  is  a handsome  young 
man,  and  a million  of  francs  would  not  make  her  change  her 
opinion.  Her  love  for  a man  is  a perpetual  flattery.  Enjoy- 
ing really  insolent  health,  her  teeth  are  two-and-thirty  Ori- 
ental pearls  set  in  coral.  Her  ‘ snout  ’ — so  she  calls  the  lower 
part  of  her  face — is,  as  Shakespeare  has  it,  as  fresh  and  sweet 
as  a heifer’s  muzzle.  And  it  can  give  bitter  pain  ! She  re- 
spects fine  men,  strong  men — an  Adolphus,  an  Augustus,  an 
Alexander — acrobats  and  tumblers.  Her  teacher,  a horrible 
Cassandro,  thrashed  her  unmercifully;  it  costs  thousands  of 
blows  to  give  her  such  agility,  grace,  and  intrepidity.” 

“You  are  drunk  with  Malaga  ! ” said  the  Countess. 

“ Her  name  is  Malaga  only  on  the  posters,”  said  Paz,  with 
a look  of  annoyance.  “ She  lives  in  the  Rue  Saint-Lazare, 
in  a little  apartment  on  the  third  floor,  in  velvet  and  silk,  like 
a princess.  She  leads  two  lives — one  as  a dancer,  and  one  as 
a pretty  woman.” 

“ And  does  she  love  you?  ” 

“She  loves  me — you  will  laugh — solely  because  I am  a 
Pole.  She  sees  in  every  Pole  a Poniatowski,  as  he  is  shown 
in  the  print,  jumping  into  the  Elster ; for  to  every  French- 
man the  Elster,  in  which  it  is  impossible  to  drown,  is  a 
foaming  torrent  which  swallowed  up  Poniatowski.  And  with 
all  this  I am  very  unhappy,  madame ” 

Clementine  was  touched  by  a tear  of  rage  in  the  captain’s 
eye. 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


363 


“You  love  the  extraordinary,  you  men,”  said  she. 

“ And  you  ? ” asked  Thaddeus. 

“ I know  Adam  so  well  that  I know  he  could  forget  me  for 
some  acrobatic  tumbler  like  your  Malaga.  But  where  did 
you  find  her  ? ” 

“At  Saint-Cloud,  last  September,  at  the  fair.  She  was 
standing  in  a corner  of  the  platform  covered  with  canvas 
where  the  performers  walk  round.  Her  comrades,  all  dressed 
as  Poles,  were  making  a terrific  Babel.  I saw  her  silent  and 
dreamy,  and  fancied  I could  guess  that  her  thoughts  were 
melancholy.  Was  there  not  enough  to  make  her  so — a girl 
of  twenty?  That  was  what  touched  me.” 

The  Countess  was  leaning  in  a bewitching  attitude,  pensive, 
almost  sad. 

“Poor,  poor  Thaddeus  ! ” she  exclaimed.  And  with  the 
good-fellowship  of  a really  great  lady,  she  added,  not  without 
a meaning  smile,  “ Go ; go  to  the  circus  ! ” 

Thaddeus  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it,  dropping  a hot  tear, 
and  then  went  out.  After  having  invented  a passion  for  a 
circus-rider,  he  must  give  it  some  reality.  Of  his  whole  story 
nothing  had  been  true  but  the  minute  attention  he  had  given 
to  the  famous  Malaga,  the  rider  of  the  Bouthor  troupe  at 
Saint-Cloud ; her  name  had  just  caught  his  eye  on  an  adver- 
tisement of  the  circus.  The  clown,  bribed  by  a single  five- 
franc  piece,  had  told  Paz  that  the  girl  was  a foundling,  or 
had  perhaps  been  stolen. 

Thaddeus  now  went  to  the  circus  and  saw  the  handsome 
horsewoman  again.  For  ten  francs,  a groom — they  fill  the 
place  of  dressers  at  a circus — informed  him  that  Malaga’s 
name  was  Marguerite  Turquet,  and  that  she  lived  in  the  Rue 
des  Fosses-de-Temple,  on  a fifth  floor. 

Next  day,  with  death  in  his  soul,  Paz  found  his  way  to  that 
quarter,  and  asked  for  Mademoiselle  Turquet,  in  summer  the 
understudy  of  the  principal  rider  at  the  cirque,  and  in  winter 
“ a super  ” in  a Boulevard  theatre. 


364 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


“ Malaga  ! ” shouted  the  doorkeeper,  rushing  into  the  attic, 
“ here  is  a fine  gentleman  for  you  ! He  is  asking  Chapuzot 
all  about  you ; and  Chapuzot  is  cramming  him  to  give  me 
time  to  let  you  know.” 

“Thank  you,  Madame  Chapuzot;  but  what  will  he  say  to 
find  me  ironing  my  gown  ? ” 

“ Pooh,  stuff!  When  a man  is  in  love,  he  loves  everything 
about  you.” 

“ Is  he  an  Englishman  ? They  are  fond  of  horses.” 

“ No.  He  looks  to  me  like  a Spaniard.” 

“So  much  the  worse.  The  Spaniards  are  down  in  the 
market  they  say.  Stay  here,  Madame  Chapuzot,  I shall  not 
look  so  left  to  myself.” 

“Who  were  you  wanting,  monsieur?”  said  the  woman, 
opening  the  door  to  Thaddeus. 

“Mademoiselle  Turquet.” 

“My  child,”  said  the  porter’s  wife,  wrapping  her  shawl 
round  her,  “ here  is  somebody  asking  for  you.” 

A rope  on  which  some  linen  was  airing  knocked  off  the 
captain’s  hat. 

“What  is  your  business,  monsieur?”  asked  Malaga,  pick- 
ing it  up. 

“I  saw  you  at  the  circus;  you  remind  me,  mademoiselle, 
of  a daughter  I lost ; and  out  of  affection  for  my  Heloise, 
whom  you  are  so  wonderfully  like,  I should  wish  to  be  of  use 
to  you,  if  you  will  allow  me.” 

“ Well,  to  be  sure  ! But  sit  down,  Monsieur  le  General,” 
said  Madame  Chapuzot.  “You  cannot  say  fairer — nor 
handsomer.” 

“I  am  not  by  way  of  love-making,  my  good  lady,”  said 
Paz.  “ I am  a father  in  deep  distress,  eager  to  be  cheated  by 
a likeness.” 

“And  so  I am  to  pass  as  your  daughter?”  said  Malaga, 
very  roguishly,  and  without  suspecting  the  absolute  truth  of 
the  statement. 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


365 


“Yes,”  said  Paz.  “I  will  come  sometimes  to  see  you; 
and  that  the  illusion  may  be  perfect,  I will  place  you  in  hand- 
some lodgings,  nicely  furnished ” 

“ I shall  have  furniture  of  my  own  ? ” said  Malaga,  looking 
at  Madame  Chapuzot. 

“And  servants,”  Paz  went  on;  “and  live  quite  at  your 
ease.” 

Malaga  looked  at  the  stranger  from  under  her  brow. 

“ From  what  country  are  you,  monsieur?  ” 

“ I am  a Pole.” 

“ Then  I accept,”  said  she. 

Paz  went  away,  promising  to  call  again. 

“ That  is  a tough  one  ! ” said  Marguerite  Turquet,  looking 
at  Madame  Chapuzot.  “ But  I am  afraid  this  man  is  wheed- 
ling me  to  humor  some  fancy.  Well,  I will  risk  it.” 

A month  after  this  whimsical  scene,  the  fair  circus-rider 
was  established  in  rooms  charmingly  furnished  by  Count 
Adam’s  upholsterer,  for  Paz  wished  that  his  folly  should  be 
talked  about  in  the  Laginski  household.  Malaga,  to  whom 
the  adventure  was  like  an  Arabian  Night’s  dream,  was  waited 
on  by  the  Chapuzot  couple — at  once  her  servants  and  her 
confidants.  The  Chapuzots  and  Marguerite  Turquet  expected 
some  startling  climax ; but  at  the  end  of  three  months,  neither 
Malaga  nor  the  Chapuzots  could  account  for  the  Polish 
Count’s  fancy.  Paz  would  spend  about  an  hour  there  once  a 
week,  during  which  he  sat  in  the  drawing-room,  never  choos- 
ing to  go  either  into  Malaga’s  boudoir  nor  into  her  bedroom, 
which,  in  fact,  he  never  entered  in  spite  of  the  cleverest 
manoeuvring  on  her  part  and  on  that  of  the  Chapuzots.  The 
Count  inquired  about  the  little  incidents  that  varied  the 
horsewoman’s  life,  and  on  going  away  he  always  left  two 
forty-franc  pieces  on  the  chimney-shelf. 

“ He  looks  dreadfully  bored,”  said  Madame  Chapuzot. 

“Yes,”  replied  Malaga,  “ that  man  is  as  cold  as  frost  after 
a thaw.” 


366 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


“ He  is  a jolly  good  fellow,  all  the  same,”  cried  Chapuzot, 
delighted  to  see  himself  dressed  in  blue  Elbeuf  cloth,  and  as 
smart  as  a minister’s  office-messenger. 

Paz,  by  his  periodical  tribute,  made  Marguerite  Turquet  an 
allowance  of  three  hundred  and  twenty  francs  a month. 
This  sum,  added  to  her  small  earnings  at  the  circus,  secured 
her  a splendid  existence  as  compared  with  her  past  squalor. 
Strange  tales  were  current  among  the  performers  at  the  circus 
as  to  Malaga’s  good  fortune.  The  girl’s  vanity  allowed  her 
rent  to  be  stated  at  sixty  thousand  francs,  instead  of  the 
modest  six  thousand  which  her  rooms  cost  the  prudent 
captain.  According  to  the  clowns  and  supers,  Malaga  ate 
off  silver  plate ; and  she  certainly  came  to  the  circus  in  pretty 
burnouses,  in  shawls,  and  elegant  scarfs.  And,  to  crown  all, 
the  Pole  was  the  best  fellow  a circus-rider  could  come  across ; 
never  tiresome,  never  jealous,  leaving  Malaga  perfect  freedom. 

“Some  women  are  so  lucky!”  said  Malaga’s  rival. 
“ Such  a thing  would  never  happen  to  me,  though  I bring  in 
a third  of  the  receipts.” 

Malaga  wore  smart  “ coal-scuttles,”  and  sometimes  gave 
herself  airs  in  a carriage  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,  where  the 
youth  of  fashion  began  to  observe  her.  In  short,  Malaga 
was  talked  about  in  the  flash  world  of  equivocal  women,  and 
her  good  fortune  was  attacked  by  calumny.  She  was  reported 
to  be  a somnambulist,  and  the  Pole  was  said  to  be  a magnet- 
ic in  search  of  the  philosopher’s  stone.  Other  comments 
jf  a far  more  venomous  taint  made  Malaga  more  inquisitive 
than  Psyche ; she  reported  them,  with  tears,  to  Paz. 

“ When  I owe  a woman  a grudge,”  said  she  to  conclude, 
“I  do  not  calumniate  her,  I do  not  say  that  a man  magnet- 
izes her  to  find  stones.  I say  that  she  is  a bad  lot,  and  I 
prove  it.  Why  do  you  get  me  into  trouble  ? ” 

Paz  was  cruelly  speechless. 

Madame  Chapuzot  succeeded  at  last  in  discovering  his 
name  and  title.  Then,  at  the  Hotel  Laginski,  she  ascertained 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS.  36*3 

some  positive  facts : Thaddeus  was  unmarried  ; he  was  not 
known  to  have  a dead  daughter  either  in  Poland  or  France. 
Malaga  could  not  help  feeling  a thrill  of  terror. 

“ My  dear  child,”  exclaimed  Madame  Chapuzot,  “that 
monster ” 

A man  who  was  satisfied  with  gazing  at  a beautiful  creature 
like  Malaga — gazing  at  her  by  stealth — from  under  his  brows 
—not  daring  to  come  to  any  decision — without  any  confi- 
dence ; such  a man,  in  Madame  Chapuzot’s  mind,  must  be  a 
monster.  “That  monster  is  breaking  you  in,  to  lead  you  on 
to  something  illegal  or  criminal.  God  above  us  ! if  you  were 
to  be  brought  up  at  the  assizes — and  it  makes  me  shudder 
from  head  to  foot  to  think  of  it,  I quake  only  to  speak  of  it 
— or  in  the  criminal  court,  and  your  name  was  in  the  news- 
papers ! Do  you  know  what  I should  do  in  your  place  ? 

Well,  in  your  place,  to  make  all  safe,  I should  warn  the 
police.” 

One  day,  when  mad  notions  were  fermenting  in  Malaga’s 
brain,  Paz  having  laid  his  gold-pieces  on  the  velvet  chimney- 
shelf,  she  snatched  up  the  money  and  flung  it  in  his  face,  say- 
ing, “ I will  not  take  stolen  money  ! ” 

The  captain  gave  the  gold  to  the  Chapuzots,  and  came  no 
more. 

Clementine  was  spending  the  summer  on  the  estate  of  her 
uncle,  the  Marquis  de  Ronquerolles,  in  Burgundy. 

When  the  troupe  at  the  circus  no  longer  saw  Thaddeus  in 
his  seat,  there  was  a great  talk  among  the  artists.  Malaga’s 
magnanimity  was  regarded  as  folly  by  some,  as  cunning  by 
others.  The  Pole’s  behavior,  as  explained  to  the  most  ex- 
perienced of  the  women,  seemed  inexplicable.  In  the  course 
of  a single  week,  Thaddeus  received  thirty-seven  letters  from 
women  of  the  town.  Happily  for  him,  his  singular  reserve 
gave  rise  to  no  curiosity  in  fashionable  circles,  and  remained 
the  subject  of  discussion  in  the  flash  set  only. 

Two  months  later,  the  handsome  rider,  swamped  in  debt, 


368 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


wrote  to  Count  Paz  the  following  letter,  which  the  dandies  of 
the  day  regarded  as  a masterpiece : 

“ You,  whom  I still  venture  to  call  my  friend,  will  you  not 
take  pity  on  me  after  what  passed  between  us,  which  you  took 
so  ill  ? My  heart  disowns  everything  that  could  hurt  your 
feelings.  If  I was  so  happy  as  to  make  you  feel  some  charm 

when . you  sat  near  me,  as  you  used  to  do,  come  again 

otherwise,  I shall  sink  into  despair.  Poverty  has  come  upon 
me  already,  and  you  do  not  know  what  stupid  things  it  brings 
with  it.  Yesterday  I lived  on  a herring  for  two  sous  and  one 
sou’s  worth  of  bread.  Is  that  a breakfast  for  the  woman  you 
love  ? The  Chapuzots  have  left  me  after  seeming  so  devoted 
to  me.  Your  absence  has  shown  me  the  shallowness  of  human 
attachment.  A bailiff,  who  turned  a deaf  ear  to  me,  has 
seized  everything  on  behalf  of  the  landlord,  who  has  no  pity, 
and  of  the  jeweler,  who  will  not  wait  even  ten  days ; for  with 
you  men,  credit  vanishes  with  confidence.  What  a position 
for  a woman  who  has  nothing  to  reproach  herself  for  but  a 
little  amusement ! My  dear  friend,  I have  taken  everything 
of  any  value  to  my  uncle’s ; I have  nothing  left  but  my 
memory  of  you,  and  the  hard  weather  is  coming  on.  All 
through  the  winter  I shall  have  no  fire,  since  nothing  but 
melodrama  is  played  at  the  Boulevard,  in  which  I have  noth- 
ing to  do  but  tiny  parts,  which  do  not  show  a woman  off. 
How  could  you  misunderstand  my  noble  feelings  towards  you, 
for,  after  all,  we  have  not  two  ways  of  expressing  our  grati- 
tude ? How  is  it  that  you,  who  seemed  so  pleased  to  see  me 
comfortable,  could  leave  me  in  misery  ? Oh,  my  only  friend 
on  earth,  before  I go  back  to  travel  from  fair  to  fair  with  the 
Bouthors — for  so,  at  any  rate,  I can  make  my  living — forgive 
me  for  wanting  to  know  if  I have  really  lost  you  for  ever.  If 
I should  happen  to  think  of  you  just  as  I was  jumping  through 
the  hoop,  I might  break  my  legs  by  missing  time.  Come 
what  may,  I am  yours  for  life.  Marguerite  Turquet.” 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


369 


“ This  letter,”  exclaimed  Thaddeus,  shouting  with  laugh- 
ter, ‘ ‘is  well  worth  my  ten  thousand  francs.” 

Clementine  came  home  on  the  following  day,  and  Paz  saw 
her  once  more,  lovelier  and  more  gracious  than  ever.  During 
dinner  the  Countess  preserved  an  air  of  perfect  indifference 
towards  Thaddeus,  but  a scene  took  place  between  the  Count 
and  his  wife  after  their  friend  had  left.  Thaddeus,  with  an 
affectation  of  asking  Adam’s  advice,  had  left  Malaga’s  letter 
in  his  hands,  as  if  by  accident. 

“Poor  Thaddeus !”  said  Adam  to  his  wife,  after  seeing 
Paz  make  his  escape.  “ What  a misfortune  for  a man  of  his 
superior  stamp  to  be  the  plaything  of  a ballet-girl  of  the  lowest 
class  ! He  will  love  anything ; he  will  degrade  himself ; he 
will  be  unrecognizable  before  long.  Here,  my  dear,  read 
that,”  and  he  handed  her  Malaga’s  letter. 

Clementine  read  the  note,  which  smelt  of  tobacco,  and 
tossed  it  away  with  disgust. 

“ However  thick  the  bandage  over  his  eyes  may  be,  he  must 
have  found  something  out.  Malaga  must  have  played  him 
some  faithless  trick.” 

“And  he  is  going  back  to  her  ! ” cried  Clementine.  “ He 
will  forgive  her  ! You  men  can  have  no  pity  for  any  but  those 
horrible  women  ! ” 

“ They  need  it  so  badly  ! ” said  Adam. 

“Thaddeus  did  himself  justice — by  keeping  to  himself!  ” 
said  she. 

“Oh,  my  dearest,  you  go  too  far,”  said  the  Count,  who, 
though  he  was  at  first  delighted  to  lower  his  friend  in  his 
wife  s eyes,  would  not  be  the  death  of  the  sinner. 

Thaddeus,  who  knew  Adam  well,  had  begged  for  absolute 
secrecy ; he  had  only  spoken,  he  said,  as  an  excuse  for  his 
dissipations,  and  to  beg  his  friend  to  allow  him  to  have  a 
thousand  crowns  for  Malaga. 

“He  is  a man  of  great  pride,”  Adam  went  on. 

“ What  do  you  mean  ? ” 

24 


370 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


“ Well,  to  have  spent  no  more  than  ten  thousand  francs  on 
her,  and  to  wait  for  such  a letter  as  that  to  rouse  him  before 
taking  her  the  money  to  pay  her  debts ! For  a Pole,  on  my 
honor!  ” 

“ But  he  may  ruin  you  ! ” said  Clementine  in  the  acrid  tone 
of  a Parisian  woman  when  she  expresses  her  cat-like  distrust- 
fulness. 

“Oh!  I understand  him,”  said  Adam.  “He  would  sac- 
rifice Malaga  to  us.” 

“ We  shall  see,”  replied  the  Countess. 

“If  it  were  needful  for  his  happiness,  I should  not  hesitate 
to  ask  him  to  give  her  up.  Constantine  tells  me  that  during 
the  time  when  he  was  seeing  her,  Paz,  usually  so  sober,  some- 
times came  in  quite  fuddled.  If  he  allowed  himself  to  take 
to  drink,  I should  be  as  much  grieved  as  if  he  were  my  son.” 

“ Do  not  tell  me  any  more  ! ” cried  the  Countess  with  an- 
other gesture  of  disgust. 

Two  days  later  the  captain  could  see  in  her  manner,  in  the 
tone  of  her  voice,  in  her  eyes,  the  terrible  results  of  Adam’s 
betrayal.  Scorn  had  opened  gulfs  between  him  and  this 
charming  woman.  And  he  fell  forthwith  into  deep  melan- 
choly, devoured  by  this  thought,  “You  have  made  yourself 
unworthy  of  her.”  Life  became  a burden  to  him  ; the  bright 
sunshine  was  gloomy  in  his  eyes.  Nevertheless,  under  these 
floods  of  bitter  thought,  he  had  some  happy  moments : he 
could  now  give  himself  up  without  danger  to  his  admiration 
for  the  Countess,  who  never  paid  him  the  slightest  attention 
when,  at  a party,  hidden  in  a corner,  mute,  all  eyes  and  all 
heart,  he  did  not  lose  one  of  her  movements,  not  a note  of 
her  song  when  she  sang.  He  lived  in  this  enchanting  life : 
he  might  himself  groom  the  horse  that  she  was  to  ride,  and 
devote  himself  to  the  management  of  her  splendid  house  with 
redoubled  care  for  its  interests. 

These  unspoken  joys  were  buried  in  his  heart  like  those  of 
a mother,  whose  child  never  knows  anything  of  his  mother’s 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


371 


heart : for  is  it  knowledge  so  long  as  even  one  thing  remains 
unknown  ? Was  not  this  finer  than  Petrarch’s  chaste  passion 
for  Laura,  which,  after  all,  was  well  repaid  by  a wealth  of 
glory,  and  by  the  triumph  of  the  poetry  she  had  inspired  ? 
Was  not  the  emotion  which  Assas  felt  in  dying,  in  truth  a 
whole  life  ? This  emotion  Paz  felt  every  day  without  dying, 
but  also  without  the  guerdon  of  immortality. 

What  is  there  in  love  that  Paz,  notwithstanding  these 
secret  delights,  was  consumed  by  sorrow?  The  Catholic 
religion  has  so  elevated  love  that  she  has  married  it  insep- 
arably, so  to  speak,  to  esteem  and  generosity.  Love  does 
not  exist  apart  from  the  fine  qualities  of  which  man  is  proud, 
and  so  rarely  are  we  loved  if  we  are  contemned,  that  Thad- 
deus  was  perishing  of  his  self-inflicted  wounds.  Only  to 
hear  her  say  that  she  could  have  loved  him,  and  then  to  die ! 
The  hapless  lover  would  have  thought  his  life  well  paid  for. 
The  torments  of  his  previous  position  seemed  to  him  prefer- 
able to  living  close  to  her,  loading  her  with  his  generosity 
without  being  appreciated  or  understood.  In  short,  he  wanted 
the  price  of  his  virtue. 

He  grew  thin  and  yellow,  and  fell  so  thoroughly  ill,  con- 
sumed by  low  fever,  that  during  the  month  of  January  he 
kept  his  bed,  though  refusing  to  see  a physician.  Count 
Adam  grew  extremely  uneasy  about  his  poor  Thaddeus.  The 
Countess  then  was  so  cruel  as  to  say,  when  they  were  together 
one  day,  “Let  him  alone;  do  you  not  see  that  he  has  some 
Olympian  remorse?” 

This  speech  stung  Thaddeus  to  the  verge  of  despair ; he 
got  up,  went  out,  tried  some  amusement,  and  recovered  his 
health. 

In  the  month  of  February,  Adam  lost  a rather  considerable 
sum  at  the  Jockey  Club,  and,  being  afraid  of  his  wife,  he 
begged  Thaddeus  to  place  this  sum  to  the  account  of  his 
extravagance  for  Malaga. 

“ What  is  there  strange  in  the  notion  that  the  ballet-girl 


372 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


should  have  cost  you  twenty  thousand  francs  ? It  concerns 
no  one  but  me.  Whereas,  if  the  Countess  should  know  that 
I had  lost  it  at  play,  I should  fall  in  her  esteem,  and  she 
would  be  in  alarm  for  the  future.’ * 

“This  to  crown  all  ! ” cried  Thaddeus,  with  a deep  sigh. 

“Ah!  Thaddeus,  this  service  would  make  us  quits  if  I 
were  not  already  the  debtor.” 

“Adam,  you  may  have  children.  Give  up  gambling,” 
said  his  friend. 

“And  twenty  thousand  francs  more  that  Malaga  has  cost 
us!”  exclaimed  the  Countess  some  days  after,  on  discover- 
ing Adam’s  generosity  to  Paz.  “ And  ten  thousand  before 
— that  is  thirty  thousand  in  all ! Fifteen  hundred  francs  a 
year,  the  price  of  my  box  at  the  Italian  opera,  a whole  for- 
tune to  many  people.  Oh  ! you  Poles  are  incomprehen- 
sible ! ” cried  she,  as  shp  picked  some  flowers  in  her  beautiful 
conservatory.  “ You  care  no  more  than  that  1 ” 

“ Poor  Paz ” 

“ Poor  Paz,  poor  Paz ! ” she  echoed,  interrupting  him. 
“ What  good  does  he  do  us  ? I will  manage  the  house  my- 
self! Give  him  the  hundred  louis  a year  that  he  refused, 
and  let  him  make  his  own  arrangements  with  the  Olympic 
Circus.” 

“ He  is  of  the  greatest  use  to  us;  he  has  saved  us  at  least 
forty  thousand  francs  this  year.  In  short,  my  dearest,  he  has 
placed  a hundred  thousand  francs  for  us  in  Nucingen’s  bank, 
and  a steward  would  have  netted  them.” 

Clementine  was  softened,  but  she  was  not  the  less  hard  on 
Thaddeus. 

Some  days  after  she  desired  Paz  to  come  to  her  in  her 
boudoir,  where,  a year  since,  she  had  been  startled  by  com- 
paring him  with  the  Count.  This  time  she  received  him 
alone,  without  any  suspicion  of  danger. 

“My  dear  Paz,”  said  she,  with  the  careless  familiarity  of 
fine  folks  to  their  inferiors,  “ if  you  love  Adam  as  you  say 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


373 


you  do,  you  will  do  one  thing  which  he  will  never  ask,  but 

which  I,  as  his  wife,  do  not  hesitate  to  require  of  you ” 

“It  is  about  Malaga,”  said  Thaddeus  with  deep  irony. 
“Well,  yes,  it  is,”  she  said.  “If  you  want  to  end  your 
days  with  us,  if  you  wish  that  we  should  remain  friends,  give 

her  up.  How  can  an  old  soldier ” 

“ I am  but  five-and-thirty,  and  have  not  a gray  hair ! ” 

“ You  look  as  if  you  had,”  said  she,  “ and  that  is  the  same 
thing.  How  can  a man  so  capable  of  putting  two  and  two 
together,  so  superior ” 

What  was  horrible  was  that  she  spoke  the  word  with  such  an 
evident  intention  of  rousing  in  him  the  nobleness  of  soul 
which  she  believed  to  be  dead. 

“So  superior  as  you  are,”  she  went  on,  after  a little  pause, 
which  a gesture  from  Paz  forced  upon  her,  “allow  yourself 
to  be  entrapped  like  a boy.  Your  affair  with  her  has  made 
Malaga  famous.  Well ! My  uncle  wanted  to  see  her,  and 
he  saw  her.  My  uncle  is  not  the  only  one  ; Malaga  is  very 
ready  to  receive  all  these  gentlemen.  I believed  you  to  be 
high-minded.  Take  shame  to  yourself!  Come,  would  she 
be  an  irreparable  loss  to  you?” 

“ Madame,  if  I knew  of  any  sacrifice  by  which  I might 
recover  your  esteem,  it  would  soon  be  made ; but  to  give  up 

Malaga  is  not  a sacrifice ” 

“ In  your  place  that  is  what  I should  say  if  I were  a man,” 
replied  Clementine.  “ Well,  but  if  I take  it  as  a great  sacrh 
fice,  there  is  nothing  to  be  angry  at.” 

Paz  went  away,  fearing  he  might  do  some  mad  act ; he  felt 
his  brain  invaded  by  crazy  notions.  He  went  out  for  a walk, 
lightly  dressed  in  spite  of  the  cold,  but  failed  to  cool  the 
burning  of  his  face  and  brow.  “ I believed  you  to  be  high- 
minded  ! ” He  heard  the  words  again  and  again.  “And 
scarcely  a year  ago,”  said  he  to  himself,  “to  hear  Clemen- 
tine, I had  beaten  the  Russians  single-handed  ! ” He  thought 
of  quitting  the  Laginski  household,  of  asking  to  be  sent  on 


374 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


service  in  the  Spahi  Regiment,  and  getting  himself  killed  in 
Africa;  but  a dreadful  fear  checked  him:  “What  would 
become  of  them  without  me  ? They  would  soon  be  ruined. 
Poor  Countess,  what  a horrible  life  it  would  be  for  her  to  be 
reduced  even  to  thirty  thousand  francs  a year  ! Come,”  said 
he  to  himself,  “since  she  can  never  be  yours,  courage,  finish 
your  work  ! ” 

As  all  the  world  knows,  since  1830  the  Carnival  in  Paris 
has  grown  to  prodigious  proportions,  making  it  European, 
and  burlesque,  and  animated  to  a far  greater  degree  than  the 
departed  carnivals  of  Venice.  Is  this  because,  since  fortunes 
have  so  enormously  diminished,  Parisians  have  thought  of 
amusing  themselves  collectively,  just  as  in  their  clubs  they 
have  a drawing-room  without  any  mistress  of  the  house,  with- 
out politeness,  and  quite  cheap  ? Be  this  as  it  may,  the  month 
of  March  was  prodigal  those  balls,  where  dancing,  farce, 
coarse  fun,  delirium,  grotesque  figures,  and  banter  made  keen 
by  Paris  wit,  achieved  gigantic  results.  This  madness  had  its 
pandemonium  at  that  time  in  the  Rue  Saint-Honore,  and  its 
Napoleon  in  Musard,  a little  man  born  to  rule  an  orchestra  as 
tremendous  as  the  rampant  mob,  and  to  conduct  a galop — 
that  whirl  of  witches  at  their  Sabbath,  and  one  of  Auber’s 
triumphs,  for  the  galop  derived  its  form  and  its  poetry  from 
the  famous  galop  in  Gustavus . May  not  this  vehement  finale 
serve  as  a symbol  of  an  age  when,  for  fifty  years,  everything 
has  rushed  on  with  the  swiftness  of  a dream  ? 

Now,  our  grave  Thaddeus,  bearing  an  immaculate  image 
in  his  heart,  went  to  Malaga  to  invite  her,  the  queen  of  car- 
nival dancing,  to  spend  an  evening  at  Musard’s  as  soon  as  he 
learned  that  the  Countess,  disguised  to  the  teeth,  was  intend- 
ing to  come  with  two  other  young  ladies,  escorted  by  their 
husbands,  to  see  the  curious  spectacle  of  one  of  these  monster 
balls.  On  Shrove  Tuesday  night,  in  the  year  of  grace  1838, 
at  four  o’clock  in  the  morning,  the  Countess,  wrapped  in  a 
black  domino,  and  seated  on  a bench  of  one  of  the  amphi- 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS.  37$ 

theatres  of  the  Babylonian  hall  where  Valentino  has  since 
given  his  concerts,  saw  Thaddeus,  dressed  as  Robert  Macaire, 
leading  the  circus-rider  in  tlie  cosiume  of  a savage,  her  head 
dressed  with  nodding  plumes  like  a horse  at  a coronation, 
and  leaping  among  the  groups  like  a perfect  Jack-o’-lantern. 

“Oh!”  exclaimed  Clementine  to  her  husband,  “you 
Poles  are  not  men  of  character.  Who  would  not  have  felt 
sure  of  Thaddeus?  He  gave  me  his  word,  not  knowing 
that  I should  be  here  and  see  all  without  being  seen.” 

Some  days  after  this  she  invited  Paz  to  dinner.  After 
dinner,  Adam  left  them  together,  and  Clementine  scolded 
Thaddeus  in  such  a way  as  to  make  him  feel  that  she  would 
no  longer  have  him  about  the  house. 

“Indeed,  madame,”  said  Thaddeus,  humbly,  “you  are 
quite  right.  I am  a wretch ; I had  pledged  my  word.  But 
what  can  I do  ? I put  off  the  parting  with  Malaga  till  after 
the  Carnival.  And  I will  be  honest  with  you ; the  woman 
has  so  much  power  over  me.” 

“A  woman  who  gets  herself  turned  out  of  Musard’s  by  the 
police,  and  for  such  dancing?” 

“ I admit  it ; I sit  condemned  ; I will  quit  your  house. 
But  you  know  Adam.  If  I hand  over  to  you  the  conduct  of 
your  affairs,  you  will  have  to  exert  great  energy.  Though  I 
have  the  vice  of  Malaga,  I know  how  to  keep  an  eye  on  your 
concerns,  how  to  manage  your  household,  and  superintend 
the  smallest  details.  Allow  me  then  to  remain  until  I have 
seen  you  qualified  to  continue  my  system  of  management. 
You  have  now  been  married  three  years,  and  are  safe  from  the 
first  follies  consequent  on  the  honeymoon.  The  ladies  of 
Paris  society,  even  with  the  highest  titles,  understand  very 
well  in  these  days  how  to  control  a fortune  and  a household. 
Well,  as  soon  as  I am  assured,  not  of  your  capacity,  but  of 
your  firmness,  I will  leave  Paris.” 

“ It  is  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw  that  speaks,  not  Thaddeus  of 
the  circus.  Come  back  to  us  cured.” 


376 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


“ Cured?  Never  ! ” said  Paz,  his  eye  fixed  on  Clementine’s 
pretty  feet.  “You  cannot  know,  Countess,  all  the  spice,  the 
unexpectedness  there  is  in  that  woman’s  wit.”  And  feeling 
his  courage  fail  him,  he  added  : “ There  is  not  a single  woman 
of  fashion,  with  her  prim  airs,  who  is  worth  that  frank  young 
animal  nature.” 

“ In  fact,  I should  not  choose  to  have  anything  in  me  of 
the  animal  ! ” said  the  Countess,  with  a flashing  look  like  an 
adder  in  a rage. 

After  that  day  Count  Paz  explained  to  Clementine  all  her 
affairs,  made  himself  her  tutor,  taught  her  the  difficulties  of 
managing  her  property,  the  real  cost  of  things,  and  the  way 
to  avoid  being  too  extensively  robbed  by  her  people.  She 
might  trust  Constantine,  and  make  him  her  major-domo. 
Thaddeus  had  trained  Constantine.  By  the  month  of  May 
he  thought  the  Countess  perfectly  capable  of  administering 
her  fortune  ; for  Clementine  was  one  of  those  clear-sighted 
women  whose  instincts  are  alert,  with  an  inborn  genius  for 
household  rule. 

The  situation  thus  naturally  brought  about  by  Thaddeus 
took  a sudden  turn  most  distressing  for  him,  for  his  sufferings 
were  not  so  light  as  he  made  them  seem.  The  hapless  lover 
had  not  reckoned  with  accident.  Adam  fell  very  seriously  ill. 
Thaddeus,  instead  of  leaving,  installed  himself  as  his  friend’s 
sick-nurse.  His  devotedness  was  indefatigable.  A woman  who 
had  had  an  interest  in  looking  through  the  telescope  of  fore- 
sight would  have  seen  in  the  captain’s  heroism  the  sort  of 
punishment  which  noble  souls  inflict  on  themselves  to  subdue 
their  involuntary  thoughts  of  sin ; but  women  see  everything 
or  nothing,  according  to  their  frame  of  mind ; love  is  their 
sole  luminary. 

For  forty-five  days  Paz  watched  and  nursed  Mitgislas  with- 
out seeming  to  have  a thought  of  Malaga,  for  the  excellent 
reason  that  he  never  did  think  of  her.  Clementine,  seeing 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


377 


Adam  at  death’s  door,  and  yet  not  dead,  had  a consultation 
of  the  most  famous  doctors. 

“If  he  gets  through  this,”  said  the  most  learned  of  the 
physicians,  “it  can  only  be  by  an  effort  of  nature.  It  lies 
with  those  who  nurse  him  to  watch  for  the  moment  and  aid 
nature.  The  Count’s  life  is  in  the  hands  of  his  attendants.” 

Thaddeus  went  to  communicate  this  verdict  to  Clementine, 
who  was  sitting  in  the  Chinese  pavilion,  as  much  to  rest  after 
her  fatigues  as  to  leave  the  field  free  for  the  doctors,  and  not 
to  be  in  their  way.  As  he  trod  the  graveled  paths  leading 
from  the  boudoir  to  the  rockery  on  which  the  Chinese  sum- 
mer-house was  built,  Clementine’s  lover  felt  as  though  he 
were  in  one  of  the  gulfs  described  by  Alighieri.  The  un- 
happy man  had  never  foreseen  the  chance  of  becoming  Cle- 
mentine’s husband,  and  he  had  bogged  himself  in  a swamp  of 
mud.  When  he  reached  her  his  face  was  set,  sublime  in  its 
despair.  Like  Medusa’s  head,  it  communicated  terror. 

“ He  is  dead?  ” said  Clementine. 

“ They  have  given  no  hope  ; at  least,  they  leave  it  to  nature. 
Do  not  go  in  just  yet.  They  are  still  there,  and  Bianchon 
himself  is  examining  him.” 

“ Poor  fellow  ! I wonder  whether  I have  ever  worried 
him,”  she  said. 

“You  have  made  him  very  happy;  be  quite  easy  on  that 
point,”  said  Thaddeus;  “and  you  have  been  indulgent  to 
him ” 

“The  loss  will  be  irreparable.” 

“ But,  dear  lady,  supposing  the  Count  should  die,  had  you 
not  formed  your  opinion  of  him?” 

“ I do  not  love  him  blindly,”  she  said ; “ but  I loved  as  a 
wife  ought  to  love  her  husband.” 

“Then,”  said  Thaddeus,  in  a voice  new  to  Clementine’s 
experience  of  him,  “ you  ought  to  feel  less  regret  than  if  you 
were  losing  one  of  those  men  who  are  a woman’s  pride,  her 
love,  her  whole  life ! You  maybe  frank  with  such  a friend  as 


378 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


I am I shall  regret  him — I ! Long  before  your  marriage 

I had  made  him  my  child,  and  I have  devoted  my  life  to  him. 
I shall  have  no  interest  left  on  earth.  But  life  still  has  charms 
for  a widow  of  four-and-twenty.” 

“ Why,  you  know  very  well  that  I love  no  one,”  said  she, 
with  the  roughness  of  sorrow. 

“ You  do  not  know  yet  what  it  is  to  love,”  said  Thaddeus. 

“ Oh  ! husband  for  husband,  I have  sense  enough  to  prefer 
a child  like  my  poor  Adam  to  a superior  man.  For  nearly  a 
month  now  we  have  been  asking  ourselves,  ‘ Will  he  live  ? ’ 
These  fluctuations  have  prepared  me,  as  they  have  you,  for 
this  end.  I may  be  frank  with  you?  Well,  then,  I would 
give  part  of  my  life  to  save  Adam.  Does  not  independence 
for  a woman,  here  in  Paris,  mean  liberty  to  be  gulled  by  the 
pretense  of  love  in  men  who  are  ruined  or  profligate  ? I have 
prayed  God  to  spare  me  my  husband — so  gentle,  such  a good 
fellow,  so  little  fractious,  and  who  was  beginning  to  be  a little 
afraid  of  me.” 

“ You  are  honest,  and  I like  you  the  better  for  it,”  said 
Thaddeus,  taking  Clementine’s  hands,  which  she  allowed  him 
to  kiss.  “ In  such  a solemn  moment  there  is  indescribable 
satisfaction  in  finding  a woman  devoid  of  hypocrisy.  It  is 
possible  to  talk  to  you.  Consider  the  future ; supposing  God 
should  not  listen  to  you — and  I am  one  of  those  who  are  most 
ready  to  cry  to  Him  : Spare  my  friend  ! — for  these  fifty  nights 
past  have  not  made  my  eyes  heavy,  and  if  thirty  days  and 
thirty  nights  more  care  are  needed,  you,  madame,  may  sleep 
while  I watch.  I will  snatch  him  from  death,  if,  as  they  say, 
he  can  be  saved  by  care.  But  if,  in  spite  of  you,  in  spite  of 
me,  the  Count  is  dead.  Well,  then,  if  you  were  loved,  or 
worshiped,  by  a man  whose  heart  and  character  were  worthy 
of  yours ” 

“ I have  perhaps  madly  wished  to  be  loved,  but  I have 
never  met ” 

“ Supposing  you  were  mistaken.” 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


379 


Clementine  looked  steadily  at  Thaddeus,  suspecting  him 
less  of  loving  her  than  of  a covetous  dream ; she  poured  con- 
tempt on  him  by  a glance,  measuring  him  from  head  to  foot, 
and  crushed  him  with  two  words,  “ Poor  Malaga  ! ” pro- 
nounced in  those  tones  such  as  fine  ladies  alone  can  find  in 
the  gamut  of  their  contempt. 

She  rose  and  left  Thaddeus  fainting,  for  she  did  not  turn 
round,  but  walked  with  great  dignity  back  to  her  boudoir, 
and  thence  up  to  her  husband’s  room. 

An  hour  later  Paz  returned  to  the  sick  man’s  bedside,  and 
gave  all  his  care  to  the  Count,  as  though  he  had  not  received 
his  own  death-blow. 

From  that  dreadful  moment  he  became  silent ; he  had  a 
duel  to  fight  with  disease,  and  he  carried  it  through  in  a way 
that  excited  the  admiration  of  the  doctors.  At  any  hour  his 
eyes  were  always  beaming  like  two  lamps.  Without  showing 
the  slightest  resentment  towards  Clementine,  he  listened  to 
her  thanks  without  accepting  them ; he  seemed  deaf.  He 
had  said  to  himself,  “ She  shall  owe  Adam’s  life  to  me  ! ” and 
these  words  he  had,  as  it  were,  written  in  letters  of  fire  in  the 
sick  man’s  room. 

At  the  end  of  a fortnight  Clementine  was  obliged  to  give 
up  some  of  the  nursing,  or  risk  falling  ill  from  so  much 
fatigue.  Paz  was  inexhaustible.  At  last,  about  the  end  of 
August,  Bianchon,  the  family  doctor,  answered  for  the  Count’s 
life — 

“Ah,  madame,”  said  he  to  Clementine,  “you  are  under 
not  the  slightest  obligation  to  me.  But  for  his  friend  we 
could  not  have  saved  him  ! ” 

On  the  day  after  the  terrible  scene  in  the  Chinese  pavilion, 
the  Marquis  de  Ronquerolles  had  come  to  see  his  nephew,  for 
he  was  setting  out  for  Russia  with  a secret  mission  ; and  Paz, 
overwhelmed  by  the  previous  evening,  had  spoken  a few  words 
to  the  diplomat. 


Z 


380 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


On  the  very  day  when  Count  Adam  and  his  wife  went  out 
for  the  first  time  for  a drive,  at  the  moment  when  the  carriage 
was  turning  from  the  steps,  an  orderly  came  into  the  court- 
yard and  asked  for  Count  Paz.  Thaddeus,  who  was  sitting 
with  his  back  to  the  horses,  turned  round  to  take  a letter 
bearing  the  stamp  of  the  minister  for  foreign  affairs,  and  put 
it  into  the  side-pocket  of  his  coat,  with  a decision  which 
precluded  any  questions  on  the  part  of  Clementine  or  Adam. 
It  cannot  be  denied  that  persons  of  good  breeding  are  masters 
of  the  language  that  uses  no  speech.  Nevertheless,  as  they 
reached  the  Porte  Maillot,  Adam,  assuming  the  privilege  of  a 
convalescent  whose  every  whim  must  be  indulged,  said  to 
Thaddeus — 

“ There  can  be  no  indiscretions  between  two  brothers 
who  love  each  other  as  you  and  I do ; you  know  what  is  in 
that  letter ; tell  me,  I am  in  a fever  of  curiosity  to  know  it 
also.  ’ ’ 

Clementine  looked  at  Thaddeus  as  an  angry  woman  can, 
and  said  to  her  husband,  “ He  has  been  so  sulky  with  me 
these  two  months  that  I shall  take  good  care  not  to  press 
him.” 

“ Oh  dear  me  ! ” replied  Thaddeus,  u as  I cannot  hinder 
the  newspapers  from  publishing  it,  I may  very  well  reveal  the 
secret.  The  Emperor  Nicholas  does  me  the  favor  of  appoint- 
ing me  captain  on  service  in  a regiment  starting  with  the 
Khiva  Expedition.” 

“ And  you  are  going?  ” cried  Adam. 

“I  shall  go,  my  dear  fellow.  I came  as  captain,  and  as 
captain  I return.  Malaga  might  lead  me  to  make  a fool  of 
myself.  We  shall  dine  together  to-morrow  for  the  last  time. 
If  I did  not  set  out  in  September  for  St.  Petersburg,  I should 
have  to  travel  overland,  and  I am  not  rich.  I must  leave 
Malaga  her  little  independence.  How  can  I fail  to  provide 
for  the  future  of  the  only  woman  who  has  understood  me  ? 
Malaga  thinks  me  a great  man  ? Malaga  thinks  me  hand- 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


381 


some  ! Malaga  may  perhaps  be  faithless,  but  she  would  go 
through ” 

“ Through  a hoop  for  you,  and  fall  on  her  feet  on  horse- 
back ! ” said  Clementine,  sharply. 

“ Oh,  you  do  not  know  Malaga,”  said  the  captain,  with 
deep  bitterness,  and  an  ironical  look  which  made  Clementine 
uneasy  and  silent. 

“ Farewell  to  the  young  trees  of  this  lovely  Bois  de  Bou- 
logne, where  Parisian  ladies  drive,  and  the  exiles  wander  who 
have  found  a home  here.  I know  that  my  eyes  will  never 
again  see  the  green  trees  of  the  Allee  de  Mademoiselle,  or  of 
the  Route  des  Dames,  nor  the  acacias,  nor  the  cedar  at  the 
Ronds-points. 

“ On  the  Asiatic  frontier,  obedient  to  the  schemes  of  the 
great  Emperor  I have  chosen  to  be  my  master,  promoted 
perhaps  to  command  an  army,  for  sheer  courage,  for  con- 
stantly risking  my  life,  I may  indeed  regret  the  Champs- 
Elysees  where  you,  once,  made  me  take  a place  in  the  car- 
riage, by  your  side.  Finally,  I shall  never  cease  to  regret 
the  severity  of  Malaga — of  the  Malaga  I am  at  this  moment 
thinking  of.” 

This  was  said  in  a tone  that  made  Clementine  shiver. 

“ Then  you  love  Malaga  very  truly  ? ” she  said. 

il  I have  sacrificed  for  her  the  honor  we  never  sacrifice ” 

“ Which?” 

“ That  which  we  would  fain  preserve  at  any  cost  in  the  eyes 
of  the  idol  we  worship.” 

After  this  speech  Thaddeus  kept  an  impenetrable  silence;  he 
broke  it  only  when,  as  they  drove  down  the  Champs-Elysees, 
he  pointed  to  a wooden  structure  and  said,  “ There  is  the 
circus ! ” 

Before  their  last  dinner  he  went  to  the  Russian  embassy  for 
a few  minutes,  and  thence  to  the  minister  for  foreign  affairs, 
and  he  started  for  Havre  next  morning  before  the  Countess 
and  Adam  were  up. 


382 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


“I  have  lost  a friend,”  said  Adam,  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
when  he  learned  that  Count  Paz  was  gone,  “a  friend  in  the 
truest  sense  of  the  word,  and  I cannot  think  what  has  made 
him  flee  from  my  house  as  if  it  were  the  plague.  We  are  not 
the  sort  of  friends  to  quarrel  over  a woman,”  he  went  on, 
looking  full  at  Clementine,  “and  yet  all  he  said  yesterday 
was  about  Malaga.  But  he  never  laid  the  tip  of  his  finger  on 
the  girl.” 

“ How  do  you  know?  ” asked  Clementine. 

“ Well,  I was  naturally  curious  to  see  Mademoiselle  Tur- 
quet,  and  the  poor  girl  cannot  account  for  Thaddeus’  extra- 
ordinary reserve ” 

“ That  is  enough,”  said  the  Countess,  going  off  to  her  own 
room,  and  saying  to  herself,  “ I have  surely  been  the  victim 
of  some  sublime  hoax.” 

She  had  scarcely  made  the  reflection,  when  Constantine 
placed  in  her  hands  the  following  letter,  which  Thaddeus  had 
scrawled  in  the  night : 

“ Countess: — To  go  to  be  killed  in  the  Caucasus,  and  to 
bear  the  burden  of  your  scorn,  is  too  much ; a man  should 
die  unmutilated.  I loved  you  from  the  first  time  I saw  you, 
as  a man  loves  the  woman  he  will  love  for  ever,  even  when 
she  is  faithless — I,  under  obligations  to  Adam,  whom  you 
chose  and  married — I,  so  poor,  the  volunteer  steward,  de- 
voted to  your  household.  In  this  dreadful  catastrophe  I 
found  a delightful  existence.  To  be  an  indispensable  wheel 
in  the  machine,  to  know  myself  useful  to  your  luxury  and 
comfort,  was  a source  of  joy  to  me  ; and  if  that  joy  had 
been  keen  when  Adam  alone  was  my  care,  think  what  it 
must  have  been  when  the  woman  I worshiped  was  at  once 
the  cause  and  the  effect ! I have  known  all  the  joys  of 
motherhood  in  my  love ; and  I accepted  life  on  those  terms. 
Like  the  beggars  on  the  high-roads,  I built  myself  a hut  of 
stones  on  the  skirts  of  your  beautiful  home,  but  without  hold- 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


383 


ing  out  my  hand  for  alms.  I,  poor  and  unhappy,  but  blinded 
by  Adam’s  happiness,  I was  the  donor.  Yes,  you  were  hedged 
in  by  a love  as  pure  as  that  of  a guardian  angel ; it  watched 
while  you  slept ; it  caressed  you  with  a look  as  you  passed  by ; 
it  was  glad  merely  to  exist ; in  short,  you  were  the  sunshine 
of  home  to  the  hapless  exile  who  is  now  writing  to  you,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes,  as  he  recalls  the  happiness  of  those  early 
days. 

“ At  the  age  of  eighteen,  with  no  one  to  love  me,  I had 
chosen  as  an  ideal  mistress  a charming  woman  at  Warsaw,  to 
whom  I referred  all  my  thoughts  and  my  wishes,  the  queen 
of  my  days  and  nights.  This  woman  knew  nothing  of  it,  but 
why  inform  her?  For  my  part,  what  I loved  was  love. 

“You  may  fancy,  from  this  adventure  of  my  boyhood,  how 
happy  I was,  living  within  the  sphere  of  your  influence, 
grooming  your  horse,  picking  out  new  gold-pieces  for  your 
purse,  superintending  the  splendor  of  your  table  and  your  en- 
tertainments, seeing  you  eclipse  fortunes  greater  than  your 
own  by  my  good  management.  With  what  zeal  did  I not 
rush  round  Paris  when  Adam  said  to  me,  ‘Thaddeus,  she 
wants  this  or  that ! ’ It  was  one  of  those  joys  for  which  there 
are  no  words.  You  have  now  and  again  wished  for  some  trifle 
within  a certain  time  which  has  compelled  me  to  feats  of 
expedition,  driving  for  six  or  seven  hours  in  a cab ; and  what 
happiness  it  has  been  to  walk  in  your  service.  When  I have 
watched  you  smiling  in  the  midst  of  your  flowers  without 
being  seen  by  you,  I have  forgotten  that  no  one  loved  me — 
in  short,  at  such  moments  I was  but  eighteen  again. 

“ Sometimes,  when  my  happiness  turned  my  brain,  I would 
go  at  night  and  kiss  the  spot  where  your  feet  had  left,  for  me, 
a luminous  trace,  just  as  of  old  I had  stolen,  with  a thief’s 
miraculous  skill,  to  kiss  a key  which  Countess  Ladislas  had 
touched  on  opening  a door.  The  air  you  breathed  was  em- 
balmed ; to  me  it  was  fresh  life  to  breathe  it ; and  I felt,  as 
they  say  is  the  case  in  the  tropics,  overwhelmed  by  an  atmo- 


384 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


sphere  surcharged  with  creative  elements.  I must  tell  you  all 
these  things  to  account  for  the  strange  fatuity  of  my  involun- 
tary thoughts.  I would  have  died  sooner  than  divulge  my 
secret. 

“You  may  remember  those  few  days  when  you  were  curi- 
ous, when  you  wranted  to  see  the  worker  of  the  wonders  which 
had  at  last  struck  you  with  surprise.  I believed — forgive  me, 
madame — I believed  that  you  would  love  me.  Your  kindli- 
ness, your  looks — interpreted  by  a lover — seemed  fraught  with 
so  much  danger  to  me  that  I took  up  Malaga,  knowing  that 
there  are  liaisons  which  no  woman  can  forgive  ; I took  the 
girl  up  at  the  moment  when  I saw  that  my  love  was  inevi- 
tably infectious.  Overwhelm  me  now  with  the  scorn  which 
you  poured  upon  me  so  freely  when  I did  not  deserve  it  ; but 
I think  I may  be  quite  sure  that  if,  on  the  evening  when  your 
aunt  took  the  Count  out,  I had  said  what  I have  here  written, 
having  once  said  it  I should  have  been  like  the  tame  tiger 
who  has  at  last  set  his  teeth  in  living  flesh,  and  who  scents 
warm  blood 


“Midnight. 

“ I could  write  no  more,  the  memory  of  that  evening  was 
too  vivid  ! Yes,  I was  then  in  a delirium  ! I saw  expectancy 
in  your  eyes ; victory  and  its  crimson  banners  may  have 
burned  in  mine  and  fascinated  yours.  My  crime  was  to  think 
such  things — and  perhaps  wrongly.  You  alone  can  be  judge 
of  that  fearful  scene  when  I succeeded  in  crushing  love,  desire, 
the  most  stupendous  forces  of  manhood  under  the  icy  hand 
of  gratitude  which  must  be  eternal.  Your  terrible  scorn  pun- 
ished me.  You  have  showed  me  that  neither  disgust  nor  con- 
tempt can  ever  be  gotten  over.  I love  you  like  a madman.  I 
must  have  gone  away  if  Adam  had  died.  There  is  all  the 
more  reason  since  Adam  is  saved.  I did  not  snatch  my  friend 
from  the  grave  to  betray  him.  And,  indeed,  my  departure  is 
the  due  punishment  for  the  thought  that  came  to  me  that  I 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


385 


would  let  him  die  when  the  physicians  said  his  life  depended 
on  his  attendants. 

“ Farewell,  madame ; in  leaving  Paris  I lose  everything, 
but  you  lose  nothing  in  parting  with  yours  most  faithfully, 

“ Thaddeus  Paz.” 

“ If  my  poor  Adam  says  he  has  lost  a friend,  what  have  I 
lost?”  thought  Clementine,  sitting  dejected,  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  a flower  in  the  carpet. 

This  is  the  note  which  Constantine  delivered  privately  to 
his  master — 

“ My  dear  Mitgislas  : — Malaga  has  told  me  all.  For  the 
sake  of  your  happiness,  never  let  a word  escape  you  in  Clem- 
entine’s presence  as  to  your  visits  to  the  circus-rider;  let  her 
still  believe  that  Malaga  costs  me  a hundred  thousand  francs. 
With  the  Countess’  character  she  will  not  forgive  you  either 
your  losses  at  play  or  your  visits  to  Malaga.  I am  not  going 
to  Khiva,  but  to  the  Caucasus.  I have  a fit  of  spleen,  and  at 
the  pace  I mean  to  go,  in  three  months  I shall  be  Prince  Paz, 
or  dead.  Farewell ; though  I have  drawn  sixty  thousand  francs 
out  of  Nucingen’s,  we  are  quits. 

“ Thaddeus.” 

“ Idiot  that  I am  ! I very  nearly  betrayed  myself  just  now 
by  speaking  of  the  circus-rider  ! ” said  Adam  to  himself. 

Thaddeus  has  been  gone  three  years,  and  the  papers  do  not 
as  yet  mention  any  Prince  Paz.  Countess  Laginski  takes  a 
keen  interest  in  the  Emperor  Nicholas’  expeditions ; she  is  a 
Russian  at  heart,  and  reads  with  avidity  all  the  news  from  that 
country.  Once  or  twice  a year  she  says  to  the  ambassador, 
with  an  affectation  of  indifference,  “Do  you  know  what  has 
become  of  our  poor  friend  Paz?  ” 

Alas ! most  Parisian  women,  keen-eyed  and  subtle  as  they 
25 


386 


THE  IMAGINARY  MISTRESS. 


are  supposed  to  be,  pass  by — and  always  will  pass  by — such  an 
one  as  Paz  without  observing  him.  Yes,  more  than  one  Paz 
remains  misunderstood ; but,  fearful  thought ! some  are  mis- 
understood even  when  they  are  loved.  The  simplest  woman 
in  the  world  requires  some  little  coxcombry  in  the  greatest 
man;  and  the  most  heroic  love  counts  for  nothing  if  it- is  un- 
cut) it  needs  the  arts  of  the  polisher  and  the  jeweler. 

In  the  month  of  January,  1842,  Countess  Laginski,  beauti- 
fied by  gentle  melancholy,  inspired  a mad  passion  in  the 
Comte  de  la  Palferine,  one  of  the  most  audacious  bucks  of 
Paris  at  this  day.  La  Palferine  understood  the  difficulty  of 
conquering  a woman  guarded  by  a chimera;  to  triumph  over 
this  bewitching  woman,  he  trusted  to  a surprise,  and  to  the 
assistance  of  a woman  who,  being  a little  jealous  of  Clemen- 
tine, would  lend  herself  to  plot  the  chances  of  the  adventure. 

Clementine,  incapable  with  all  her  wit  of  suspecting  such 
treachery,  was  so  imprudent  as  to  go  with  this  false  friend  to 
the  masked  ball  at  the  opera.  At  about  three  in  the  morning, 
carried  away  by  the  excitement  of  the  ball,  Clementine,  for 
whom  La  Palferine  had  exhausted  himself  in  attentions,  con- 
sented to  sup  with  him,  and  was  getting  into  the  lady’s  car- 
riage. At  this  critical  moment  she  was  seized  by  a strong 
arm,  and  in  spite  of  her  cries  placed  in  her  own  carriage, 
which  was  standing  with  the  door  open,  though  she  did  not 
know  that  it  was  waiting. 

“ He  has  not  left  Paris  ! ” she  exclaimed,  recognizing  Thad- 
deus,  who  ran  off  when  he  saw  the  carriage  drive  away  with 
the  Countess. 

Had  ever  another  woman  such  a romance  in  her  life  ? 

Clementine  is  always  hoping  to  see  Paz  again. 


Paris,  January,  1842. 


Balzac . 

Ursule  Mirouet. 


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